The Wolf Mother
by SGreenD
Summary: "It obviously sounded like Boyd didn't think it was necessary to call me, so-" - "Yeah, well, Boyd ain't in charge right now. He's got two bullet holes in him, he ain't thinkin' clearly." Boyd can take care of himself, and when he can't, Ava will. Raylan has to help, being a LEO an' all.
1. Chapter 1

So, Season 4. Wow. I cannot put in words how disappointed I was with the first episode - it was all too much, exaggerated, unrealistic bullshit, with Raylan portrayed as really being larger than life, like nothing can touch him, not even having a criminal in his trunk... I just didn't buy it, any of it, even for a second. Even the parts with Boyd didn't excite me as much as they usually do, and I hate this new fella in his crew. Anyway, it got better with ep 2, but still it seems to me like the writers are in a hurry to get somewhere, trying to fit a story in 13 episodes that would need more time developing. I already saw that problem with season 3, but now it's getting obvious.

I still love this show, though, so enough whining for now. Just, until I find my way into the new season and start to like it better, I can't write a story that plays during season 4, and hence this story, as my other Justified fics except for "The Fade Out Line" (which there will be a reference to in this chapter here, but only once and only a short one), plays out post-season 3, since it was mentioned that between the end of season 3 and the beginning of season 4 several months have passed. I'm using this in-between-time until I know what to do with season 4.

Now, with the story. It's Boyd/Ava, obviously, with a little Boyd whump, since I can't seem to go without, and has lots of Raylan and, this time, Tim in it, too.

English is not my native language, I still try my best.

I rated it T, but there's a short lemony scene right at the beginning that I'm nervous about cause it's the first time I've tried writing anything like it, so I hope I haven't made a complete ass outta myself, and it's not the most explicit thing you'll ever read and really just a few lines, so I didn't see the point in rating the whole story M. If you blush easily, skip the first six paragraphs and you'll be just fine.

The title is inspired by the great song "Wolf" by First Aid Kit.

Disclaimer: I do not own Justified, nor any of its characters, and I am not making any money with this.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Wolf Mother

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

It was a silent night in Harlan County, so quiet in fact that Ava was afraid her and Boyd would wake someone up with what they were doing. But she couldn't have been bothered by it right at this moment, she was enjoying herself way too much.

Boyd was writhing beneath her, breathing heavily. Ava's hands had the head board of her bed in a death grip as she repeatedly lowered herself on Boyd's cock with a fervor that had the bed frame slam against the wall, creating a rhythmic thump-thump noise, and although she really liked Danny, she was secretly glad he'd finally found his own place so that when her and Boyd got to having sex they didn't have the need to be quiet anymore.

Boyd thrust up to meet her, and Ava threw her head back at the beginning of the familiar sweet tingling in her lower regions. Like this, with her eyes closed, the bed frame slamming against the wall almost sounded like a heart beat…

"Boyd" she panted. "Oh… just… a little… more… don't stop…"

Neither one of them had any intention of stopping now, she knew, and it made her smile that she still wanted to say it out loud. Then her eyes rolled back as she rode out one of the strongest orgasms she'd had in the last month, and words escaped her.

Boyd flipped them over then, and she gave him a dazed smile. Her man grinned back with all of his teeth as he always did. She lifted a hand, hurting slightly from the white-knuckled grip she'd had on the head board, and touched his face tenderly, running it through his hair. Boyd closed his eyes against her touch and kissed her passionately as he delved deep into her again. A few more thrusts and he was done for, murmuring her name against her lips as he came.

Boyd rested his forehead against hers. "Dear Lord" he huffed.

"That was so good" Ava said and meant it. Not even Raylan had ever managed to make her come like that. Maybe it was the love that made everything better. That thought made her smile big at Boyd and draw him in for another kiss, before he pulled out of her and lay down at her side.

"It was, wasn't it" he whispered and grinned like a fool. "I think I've never loved you more than right now."

That had her laughing out loud. "You're an idiot."

Boyd chuckled and ran his hand through her hair, fanning it out on the pillow.

"I think I know what you mean, though" Ava admitted. She felt the post-coital contentment settle over her, making her eye-lids heavy with much needed sleep.

"Do you now."

"Maybe. I do love you, Boyd."

"And I love to hear it."

"Good" she said and kissed him one last time before settling next to him, her arm slung over his chest, her legs tangled with his. Boyd was not big on the cuddling, but he let her indulge in it until she fell asleep before he gently untangled them and fell asleep himself. It was another thing she loved him for.

Ava was already close to falling asleep, she knew it would happen any minute now. Her mind had already been pulled under a few times, her awareness was slipping, and she tried to remember the last dream she'd had, when suddenly she felt all of Boyd's muscles go taut. It pulled her out of her half-asleep state.

"Boyd?" she murmured, confused.

"Shhh. I might've heard somethin'" he whispered.

Ava frowned. She hadn't heard a thing.

When Boyd had pulled out of her minutes earlier to lie down next to her, he'd positioned himself on what Ava usually saw as his side of the bed, with a night stand next to it that had a small drawer in which Boyd stowed his reading glasses and a Beretta. On Ava's side of the bed the night stand had no drawer, but she kept her sawed-off behind it, leaning against the wall. Also Ava was lying rather close to the edge of the mattress. It turned out to be a blessing when the bedroom door burst open and shots were suddenly being fired at them, and Ava thought she was in a nightmare that was repeating itself, only the guy that grabbed her and rolled her off of the bed and onto the floor was Boyd instead of Raylan.

Ava was petrified; she would have been an easy target had it not been for Boyd. She heard him stifle a scream when he rolled them off of the mattress and she knew he was hit. They were lying on the wooden floor of her bedroom, naked, and the shots had not ceased yet, and finally Ava was able to shake the shock. She made a grab for her shotgun and started firing back until she didn't have any rounds left. That had to have done the trick because she heard hasty footsteps on the stairs as her and Boyd got up off the floor.

Boyd was muttering colourful curses as he pulled on his pants and rushed around the bed to get his Beretta. Ava shrugged into her robe, not even bothering to tie it properly, but when Boyd bolted out of the room to follow whoever it had been that had shot at them down the stairs, she remembered that her sawed-off was running on empty, and with shaking fingers she loaded a new round into the chambers before running after her man.

Ava arrived at the wide open front door to see Boyd standing in her front yard, shirtless and barefoot, firing at a retreating truck. He only managed to take out one out their headlights before the car was too far away to do any real damage. When Boyd realized it he lowered his gun and let his shoulders sag.

"Fuck!" he shouted into the night, panting. He leaned forward slightly as if trying to catch his breath.

Ava swallowed as she felt the adrenaline curse through her body. Any and all traces of sleepy contentment were gone. Shakily she leaned her shotgun against the doorframe and did up her robe; the ice-cold wind tried to blow it open.

"Baby, come on inside. They're gone" she called to Boyd.

Slowly he followed her lead as she got back inside the warm house and turned on the light in the kitchen to sit at the table and try to calm her nerves. This was one of those times where she severely regretted giving up smoking. A cigarette would have done wonders now. But then again, everything was temporary.

Ava's eyes widened in shock when she saw Boyd step into the kitchen and she got a good look at the state he was in: He was bleeding heavily from a gash in his left side, and there was a smaller one on his right upper arm. He was pale and his right hand was covered in blood. It was starting to soak through the leg of his pants already.

"Jesus Christ!" Ava shouted. "Boyd! What the hell!"

She'd known he had to have been hit, but he'd been up and around immediately after… it was the adrenaline, then, had to be.

"Ain't that bad" Boyd said, looking at his side. "Just a graze."

"Shut up, Boyd, that ain't just a goddamn graze!" Ava grabbed his left hand, the un-bloodied one, and pulled at it until he followed her to one of the chairs. After she sat him down she grabbed the first aid kit she was keeping under the sink. Boyd reached for a dish towel and pressed it against his side, grimacing.

"Goddamnit, what the hell is this" Ava muttered as she dug into the kit to find what she was looking for. "The hell. The HELL, Boyd?!"

"I don't know, baby." Boyd was speaking in a soothing voice to her. "But it's gonna be fine. It's all gonna be just fine, alright. You gotta calm down now, baby. They're gone, like you said."

"Yeah, but…" Ava felt tears sting at her eyes. The shock of what had just happened to her – again – was starting to get to her; what happened to THEM. This was THEM, in it together, and there was no mistaking that they were both the intended target this time. "They fucking SHOT at us!" she shouted, like it hadn't been obvious.

"I know, baby, I know. It sucks. But I've had way worse than this." Boyd was still trying to calm her down, and she needed that, desperately. But he was starting to piss her off, just a little.

"I know that, too, Boyd, I was there, remember?" Ava bit out. Both of their gazes wandered to the dining room.

"Yeah. Sorry, Ava." Boyd was taking shallow breaths, and the towel was in need to be replaced. Blood from the shallower graze on his shoulder was running down his arm. It made Ava want to kick and scream.

"What do we do now?" she asked while taking the dish towel away from the gash in Boyd's side and replacing it with medical pads, a whole bunch of them, to stem the blood still flowing. Boyd winced when she increased the pressure. "Who the hell did this?"

"Well" he said. "There ain't all that much that we can do right now, baby. Only thing we can do is hope they don' get back until it's light outside, and then we'll start hearin' around for who's been wantin' to kill us so bad they couldn't wait till past 3 am."

Ava taped the pads in place the best she could, but it wouldn't hold very long. "You need a doctor. And don't you dare tell me you don't" she continued when Boyd started to say something.

"Fine, Ava, we'll get one here in the mornin', huh?"

"I don't know, Boyd. This just ain't right."

"Well, what do you wanna do now? Call the polies?"

"No." Ava looked at him. "I'mma call Raylan."

"You what?" Boyd gazed at her with wide eyes.

"Raylan. He's gonna know what to do, right?"

"Baby, he, uh, he might, but" Boyd gave a little, incredulous laugh, pretty similar to when she'd told him about what had happened to Delroy, "it's three in the mornin', an' I'm guessin' he'll be asleep, so…"

"So what. We were supposed to be asleep now, as well, and the only reason we ain't dead is cause you can't fall asleep when I'm cuddlin' you. You're hurt, you're bleedin', and we need help. Do you trust Johnny to keep you safe right now? Or Limehouse, for God's sake? If there's one person in this world that you trust to keep you safe right now, who would it be, huh? Who would it be?"

Boyd lowered his head and sighed, resigned. "I guess that would be Raylan, then."

"Of course it would." Ava nodded resolutely and got up to get her cell phone. "Now, I'mma call him, and you'll sit here and drink a glass of water. Don't move, this bandage is more'n shady."

"Yes, ma'am" Boyd said and she thought she heard a touch of amusement in his voice. You could never know with that man.

* * *

Raylan Givens groaned when his cell phone rang. It was still dark outside; he couldn't have overslept so bad… was it even time to get up? Was it even his cell phone? It might have been Lindsey's. But the bar tender slept on as if the quiet of the night had never been broken, so Raylan sighed and took it on himself to begin the cell phone search.

His body felt like it weighed a ton when he forced himself to sit up and turn on the light. Who the hell was it that called anyone at 3 am?

Oh, Raylan thought. He remembered a time, it felt like an eternity ago, when he himself had called Boyd at exactly the same time that now someone else was calling him; he'd woken Boyd up, then, too. Raylan remembered the dream he'd had, and shuddered, trying to forget it. He hadn't thought of that night for a long time. This felt like another life now. But as far as he knew, Boyd Crowder was still alive. The last time he'd seen him Boyd had been sitting in the back of an ambulance, pale as a sheet, with a poor terrified paramedic removing the IV from his arm. But, he'd been alive.

Raylan breathed and took his cell phone – it HAD been his cell phone ringing – and checked the caller ID. His eye brows rose to his hairline.

"Ava? That you?"

"Yes, Raylan, hey. I'm sorry, but-"

"You damn well should be, it's in the middle of the night! Why the hell you callin' me right in the middle of the goddamned night?"

Scratch that, Raylan thought, why the hell is she calling me at all?

"Raylan, listen. There was someone in my house, they shot at us, and Boyd is hurt, and I – I don't know what to do, okay? So, I need your help!"

"They what? Slowly, Ava, alright?" Raylan sat up straighter. "Who was at your house, and when?"

"I don't know, it was dark, they – they were here just now, Boyd an' I were in bed, we were just fallin' asleep… and then the door…"

"The door burst open and someone opened fire on the bed, yeah. Sounds kinda familiar." Raylan dragged a hand through his hair. "Okay. But they're gone now?"

"Yeah, they're gone."

"And you're a hundred percent sure?"

"Yeah, we – we followed them outside, Boyd shot at their car, he managed to take out one of their head lights… but they could come back, Raylan, it's dark, we can't see, we're alone-"

"Alright, alright, Ava, I get it. You said something about Boyd being hurt."

"Yeah, he, uhm, he got hit, twice."

Raylan closed his eyes briefly. So much for Boyd being alive, then.

"How bad?"

"Well, the one is just a graze, but there's one on his side that seems deeper than that and it's bleedin' quite heavily… course he says it ain't that bad, but…"

"So he's conscious?"

"Yeah, he is, wants me to give him the phone."

"Go ahead then."

Raylan heard a rustle, some quiet words being exchanged, and then Boyd's familiar drawl came through the speaker.

"Hey there, Raylan."

"Boyd. So, the kinda night you had, huh."

"It was quite adventurous, I'll say. But we don' need to make it any more adventurous than it's already been, see, Ava was just scared-" Ava said something in the background, and it sounded pissed off. "Or is still scared, sorry." Ava continued talking, and Raylan could hear Boyd sigh heavily. "Baby, what could Raylan do right now anyway? Don't look at me, it was your idea."

"Boyd, if you're on the phone with me, I'd like you to tell me what the hell is going on right now."

"Well, see – GOD… damnit."

There was another rustle, and Ava was back. "Sorry, Raylan."

"The hell?"

"Boyd's in pain. He moved, and that makeshift bandage of mine ain't holdin' out much longer. Raylan, what are we gonna do?"

"It obviously sounded like Boyd didn't think it was necessary to call me, so-"

"Yeah, well, Boyd ain't in charge right now. He's got two bullet holes in him, he ain't thinkin' clearly."

"Holes? I think the one was just a graze."

"Raylan…"

"Alright. Assuming you want to take Boyd's approach and do nothin' you're gonna have to stay in the cellar, call your back-up and hope for the best, but I get the feelin' that ain't how you wanna deal with this."

"No, I do not. This is serious, Raylan."

"I know, I know, it is. Getting shot at in your bedroom in the middle of the night? Been there, done that. I guess you should call Harlan PD, give a statement, they'll be forced to do somethin' bout it-"

"No, no, no, Raylan, I don't want Harlan PD to snoop around my house, I want you!"

Raylan frowned. "Why?"

"Cause…" Ava seemed to hesitate. "I was thinkin' who I should call, an'… there was only one person Boyd an' I could think of that we would feel safe with, an' well, that person is you."

"Ava, I'm honored, but I'm a Marshal, this is not my department. As long as the guy who did this ain't a federal fugitive there's nothing I can do. Listen, call Harlan PD, call the Sherriff, and then come to Lexington, to the Marshal's Office, if you feel safer with that. Maybe we can get your statements there, take care of Boyd, while forensics are snoopin' round your house, tryin' to find out if this asshole left traces that make him easier to be found. How's that sound?"

"Alright, I guess."

"Okay. Give me another call as soon as you're crossing the line to Lexington. We'll be waitin' for you at the office. It's gonna be fine, alright?"

"Alright, Raylan. See you then."

Ava hung up, and Raylan put his cell phone back on the night stand and leaned his head back until it thumped against the wall. Well, shit. That would shorten his night considerably.

"Everythin' okay?" Lindsey murmured into her pillow.

"Yep. I just got another hour of maybe-sleep before I have to get up to call my boss and let him know how short his night's gonna be. That'll be so much fun."

"Uhuh." Lindsey sounded like she was half-way back to sleep and hadn't even really listened in the first place; Raylan envied her. This time the nightly phone conversation with Boyd had not calmed him down. He was certain that he would not be falling asleep again any time soon.

* * *

I really wasn't sure whether to actually post this, so I just wrote and wrote and wrote for like a week or so, until I was sure it's good enough to be unleashed on the readers of this fandom, and not just a big pile of shit. That insecurity of mine lead to the fact that I have now already another two finished chapters at the ready, but as opposed to my last fic that I posted in a matter of days (because, it was a Christmas story so I wanted to post it all on Christmas, that's logical, right?) I'm planning to post this one at a more leisured pace. I'm thinking one chapter a week.

This chapter was parts from Ava's POV, just because I'd never tried that before, but I think the rest of the story will be Raylan's POV. Back to my comfort zone. And the fic is ABOUT Boyd, but strangely enough, I noticed that he has way less "screen time" than Raylan does... how is that even possible? Don't you just love it when you start a story with a specific progression in mind, and then the story turns around on you and develops a life of its own? Ah. Wonderful.

As always, those who think they might be inclined to review, I ain't inclined to disagree.


	2. Chapter 2

So I wanted to wait till tomorrow to post chapter 2, but then I was reading it back just now and thought, oh, what the hell, and I'm posting it now. Thanks for the feedback! And to everyone who's already seen ep 6 - the end of that episode totally had me excited as all hell! Finally something about season 4 that made absolute sense to me. (And that's all I'm gonna say, because for those who might not have seen it yet, I ain't gonna spoil nothing. See for yourself.)

Now, there are some things said in this chapter about guns and ammunition. I have absolutely no idea about this stuff whatsoever, and I got a little information about it here and there, and bullshitted my way through the rest, so if you know about this stuff, don't be mad about the mistakes I made, but tell me so I can make it better next time. Thanks already.

Get ready for a little Boyd whump. It just makes my day.

Also, I can't seem to stop cross-referencing to my others stories. I'm terribly sorry and really not THAT much in love with myself. I swear.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Wolf Mother

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

"Okay, Ms. Crowder" a very tired-looking Art began. "So tell us what exactly happened, please."

Raylan sat next to him, drinking his fourth cup of shitty office-coffee, still trying to process how his night had gone from banging Lindsey and going to bed early to sitting in the office at 6 am and seeing a severely shaken Ava and a severely exhausted Boyd coming in from the elevators, being escorted by half of the Harlan PD force or so it seemed, and both looking a little worse for wear, though for obviously different reasons. Raylan could see the white bandage already dotted with red where Boyd had left his hurriedly thrown-on shirt unbuttoned.

Ava sighed and looked through the glass at Boyd who sat in the chair next to Tim's desk, looking like he might fall asleep any minute. Raylan followed her gaze and saw the paramedic that currently occupied Tim's chair and was talking animatedly at Boyd, probably saying things like "you need to go to the hospital" and other stuff that would not be well-received by Boyd. Tim was standing next to them, having been told to keep an eye on Boyd, though now that hardly seemed necessary.

"Well" Ava began. "It was the middle of the night, and we were, Boyd an' me, that is, we were just about to fall asleep, or at least I was, when suddenly Boyd said he'd heard somethin', and then suddenly that guy burst through the door and started shootin' at us, and-"

"Sorry to interrupt" one of the Harlan officers asked, "but, Ms. Crowder, how did you know it was a guy? It was dark, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, just" Ava shrugged. "I just assumed, I guess. I didn't exactly see if it was a guy or a girl."

"And how did he get into your house?"

"He, uh, he broke a window. I saw it later, shortly before we left. Didn't even notice it before, with all that was… happenin'."

"Hold on" Raylan interrupted. "He broke a window? What kind of assassin is stupid enough to break a window? And, more importantly, how in the hell did you not hear him break a window?"

"I, ah…" Ava looked like she was blushing. "Well, we just didn't. You… sometimes you just overhear stuff, right?" She looked at him then and Raylan knew what she really meant was "You didn't hear that guy break in back then, either." Which was true, but still. The idiot, Red or whatever his name had been, had at least been smart enough to just lockpick the front door, not smash in a goddamn window.

"While that might be true" Raylan admitted, fixing Ava with a look that said he knew what she was insinuating and that she had to stop bullshitting him, "I just can't get it in my head how you could overhear a window being smashed in in the middle of the night in a silent house. Can you?"

"Actually, I can." Ava rolled her eyes. "Raylan, this has nothin' to do with what happened. We just didn't hear it, okay?"

"Yeah, Raylan" Art chimed in. "Maybe that's, ah, not exactly the point, so I think we should move on." He looked uncomfortable. Raylan didn't get it.

"No, Art, we should not move on. This is Boyd Crowder we're talkin' about. If there's somethin' fishy about this story, I wanna know it."

"Raylan, there ain't nothin' fishy about me and Boyd not hearin' that goddamned window breaking!" Ava was exasperated.

"Then why the hell didn't you hear it?"

"Because we were having sex, Raylan!"

Ava covered her face with one hand, embarrassed about her outburst, and Raylan stared dumbly at her for a few seconds. Now he got why Art had been looking uncomfortable.

"Oh." He said eloquently. "Well. That certainly explains it."

"Yeah." Ava sounded beyond pissed.

"Okay then." Raylan cleared his throat. "Uhm. Please continue with your statement, then."

"I will, if you let me."

"So" Art said loudly. "You didn't hear him breaking in, glad we established that. He – or she, we don't know for certain – came bursting through the door, started firing. What happened then?"

"We rolled off the bed. Boyd got hit in the process. I grabbed my shotgun that I keep behind my nightstand and started firing back, which had the guy run off, we heard him stamping on the stairs. Boyd followed him, an' me too, just, well, we had to put on clothes first, and I had to reload. When I finally made it outside Boyd was shooting at the guy's car, took out one of them lights."

"Which one?" Art asked.

"I don't know, honestly. It happened so fast." Ava shrugged. "Boyd'll know. He's good at memorizing such things."

* * *

"It was late in the night, and Ava and me were unguarded, I guess you could say. We were occupied with each other, so we did not hear anybody break in" Boyd explained. He looked as exhausted as he had on Christmas Eve, Raylan thought. It kinda was like Christmas Eve; there were paramedics hovering around, fussing over Boyd, and Boyd being annoyed by it and assuring that he was doing fine, which no one was buying. Yeah, Christmas Eve all over again.

That Boyd easily admitted to not hearing the break-in because he'd been sleeping with Ava did make it sound like Raylan and Ava had been blowing the whole thing a bit out of proportion, and Raylan was suspecting it might have had something to do with the fact that him and Ava had had a thing once, and that Ava was not comfortable talking about her sex life with Boyd in front of Raylan. Obviously Boyd had no such qualms. But then again Boyd loved to talk and always did do and say the things he thought needed to be said and done.

"We settled for the night, then, and I was, though tired, still aware enough to hear the stairs squeakin', and I told Ava as much, an' then suddenly the door to the bedroom was pushed open and a stranger started shootin' at us. No shotgun, though, it was a gun, handgun, big caliber, but semi-automatic at the most."

"Did you see it?" Tim asked.

"No, Deputy, but I still remember a thing or two from my days at basic weapons trainin' to be able to tell apart a half- or non-automatic handgun from a sawed-off."

"Fair enough." Tim nodded. "Did you see the attacker's face?"

"No. It was dark, an' they were shootin' at us, so I didn't exactly take the time to memorize the face, but I caught a glimpse at very short hair, shorter than what most women would prefer for their hair to look like, or at least that's what I'm guessin'. So my guess would be that it was a male offender."

"Okay, duly noted that Boyd thinks it was a man because of the haircut" Raylan said and rolled his eyes. "What happened next?"

"Me an' Ava got off of the bed, rolled onto the floor. I took a hit in the side, didn't even feel the second one in the arm, I was pumped on adrenaline. Ava had her shotgun at the ready and returned fire, which caused the offender to retreat, I'm guessin' he didn't expect us to fight back. I grabbed my pants, seein' as I was naked, and took the Beretta handgun I am keepin' in my bedside table. Ran down the stairs and out the front door that was, at this point, wide open, most likely because the offender did not deem it necessary to use the window through which he broke into the house as his easiest exit, an' from the porch I saw a truck, dark colour, though if it was black or just dark blue I couldn't say, and said truck was parked with its front facing the house. It started driving backwards as I started shootin' at it. I took out the left headlight before the truck turned and raced out of my reach and sight."

Boyd stopped here and took a deep breath, sagging a little in his chair. He took a sip from the glass of water one of the paramedics had sat in front of him.

"Ava and I got back inside then, and Ava was scared, sayin' she'd call you" he looked at Raylan, "cause she didn't know who else to call, and to be honest, I had no better idea. And I assume you know the rest already."

"I'd like you to tell us still" Art said.

"Well, we did as Raylan said, called Harlan PD and the Sherriff's office, had Shelby and his guys come around, Harlan PD sent us these nice officers" he waved a tired hand at the police officers sitting at the table, "and a forensics unit for the securing of any possible evidence at the crime scene. Ava told them that Deputy Marshal Givens had offered the Marshal's office in Lexington to give our statements and after confirmin' this information, we got dressed properly and were escorted to Lexington and finally stepped through these doors" and he pointed at the entrance to the Marshal's office.

"Well, that was an elaborate recount of the events." Art folded his hands. "Maybe you should have Crowder write your reports, Raylan. Just a thought."

"So you'll have a whole novel to read everytime I shoot someone? Which ain't all that often, by the way" he said to Boyd, who only smiled crookedly.

"Don' have to tell me that, Raylan. It's justified, ain't that what you like to say?"

"There was something missing from your recount, though, Mr. Crowder" Art intervened.

"And that would be?"

"How you got that bandage on your side. Did you bring any paramedics with you?" he asked the officers, who shook their heads. "He already was patched up when we arrived" one of them explained.

Art looked at Boyd expectantly. Boyd tried to shrug and grimaced when it caused him pain. "Ava patched me up. It ain't that big of a deal."

"You let that be my concern. This is my office, after all. You" Art snapped his fingers at one of the paramedics hovering in the background, "could you take a look at Mr. Crowder's injuries, please."

The paramedic, a young woman with chestnut brown hair, did as she was asked, and Raylan left the conference room to get some more coffee. He trailed to his desk, where Ava was sitting, sunken down and tired.

"Hey" he said and gave her a tired smile.

"You finish questioning Boyd?"

"Yeah. Paramedic's takin' a look at his side now, seems like Art ain't trustin' your medical skills." Ava nodded and dragged a hand though her messy hair. Raylan sat down next to her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just… a little shaken still, I guess?"

"I hear you. Sucks that this had to happen to you again, huh."

Ava shrugged. "It's all a bit déjà-vu-y. Now I need to get a new bed. Again."

"Maybe you wouldn't need to if you had better taste in men."

"Or I'll just get used to the bullet holes. I could pretend they're part of the ornaments, and that the bed's supposed to look like this. It kinda fits my lifestyle, don't it."

"So you don't think your taste in men is… questionable, at the least?"

"I don't think, I know it is. As is your taste in women, or so I've heard."

"Oh. Oh, Ava. Low blow." Raylan put a hand over his heart.

"Some asshole tried to shoot me and my man in my bedroom, Raylan. I'm pissed."

"I get it. As I said, been there, done that. It ain't much fun." Raylan stretched his long legs out in front of him and snuck a look at the conference room, where the paramedic had forced Boyd to take off his shirt to get a proper look at his injuries, and was now doing her job with a grim expression. Raylan guessed it had something to do with the swastika, but it was just a guess. Boyd looked indifferent. Raylan was pretty sure that was just an act.

A thought struck him then. "Hey" he said, and Ava looked at him. "What happened to that kid that was livin' at your house, the scruffy one, don't talk much… Donnie?"

"Danny. He found his own place. Not that he would have been much help. Kid can't handle a gun if his life depended on it, and if he'd gotten hurt in the crossfire Boyd would've never forgiven himself."

"Where did that guy come from, anyway? Seems like he worships Boyd, or somethin'."

Ava had to smile at that. "He kinda does, though, it's adorable. Boyd just brought him along one day, said he'd met him in a bookstore in Tennessee-"

Ava was interrupted when Art stuck his head out of the conference room and called Raylan's name. He waved them over.

"Mr. Crowder has been properly treated now, and we just received a call from Harlan PD's forensics team, they got first results."

Raylan and Ava took seats in the conference room, and Tim stood next to the white board set up in the far away corner drom the door.

"Harlan PD gave us the head's up" he began. "It was, just as Mr. Crowder had suspected, a big caliber handgun, judging from the bullets forensics fished out of the bed frame and wall. Type Spear Gold Dot, hollow-point ammunition, so there won't be any useful finger prints on the bullet cases. That type of ammunition and the fact that Mr. Crowder said it might have been semi-automatic, and the size of the bullet holes, made me think of a Desert Eagle Magnum, but it's just a hunch. Anyway. They did find some useful prints on the door handles of the bedroom door and the front door that they'll run through all available data bases."

"So, Mr. Crowder" Art said and folded his hands. "Any possible suspects? If you got any idea who it might've been, I think we would all appreciate it if you came forward with it, even if it's just hypothetical."

"I think I'm gon' disappoint you now, Chief, but I can't think of anyone." Boyd blinked at him sluggishly.

"Come on, Boyd." Raylan waved a hand through the air. "You can't tell me there ain't no one out to get you right now. You always got some shit goin' on. There has to be someone, anyone out there you've pissed off enough to pull shit like that."

"Not recently, no" Ava answered for Boyd. "And anyway, it'd take a lot to do somethin' like this, in the middle of the night, and then it was both of us, I mean, we were both targeted, right? There ain't no way this was just for Boyd."

"Actually, there might be." Art stood up and took his place next to the white board. Tim took his chair in stead. "Ms. Crowder, you described to us exactly where on the bed you and Mr. Crowder were lying when the shots started being fired." The Chief drew a rudimental effigy of Ava's bed on the white board and put two doodle figures in it. "You said you were, if we're looking at it from standing in front of it, lying on the left side of the bed, and Mr. Crowder was lying on the right side. Is that correct?"

"Yeah." Ava frowned.

"Now, Mr. Crowder, you said you were positive that the first injury you received was the shot in the side. That correct, as well?"

"It is."

"Now, judging from your recounts of the events, one of the first shots that were fired hit Mr. Crowder in the side – his left side, to be exact, the side that was facing AWAY from Ms. Crowder. Right?"

"Chief, I think I-"

"Wait, Mr. Crowder, just wait. So if what we're seeing is correct and you were hit in the side that was facing away from Ms. Crowder doesn't that make it likely that you were the only intended target here?"

"What I wanted to say, Chief" Boyd said, "was that I think I know what you're insinuatin' here, and I disagree. It could have been accidental that I was the only one hit here."

"Or" Raylan chimed in, "the guy had really, REALLY shitty aim."

"Or he was night-blind" Tim suggested. Raylan pointed at him.

"Or that."

"Be that as it may" Art continued, "I think we can all agree that Mr. Crowder is just the more probable target."

"Because, Boyd, let's face it." Raylan smiled at him. "You're an ass, and there are many people in Harlan and surroundings who know that."

"Not even disagreein' with you, Raylan, I would be hopin' that none of these shots were intended for Ava, as well, but as it is, we do not know for sure, since all you have found to prove this esperance only qualifies as circumstantial evidence at best."

Raylan had meant it when he'd called Boyd an ass, but he couldn't help being just a tad bit impressed that, even in this state of complete exhaustion, Boyd was still able to use the word "esperance" in a complete sentence. Boyd was digging a hand into his forehead now, grimacing in pain. He looked miserable, quite frankly, and Art seemed to have picked up on it, as well.

"We'll see, Mr. Crowder" he said in a placating tone of voice. "Maybe the prints will give a result in the databases. Have you been given anything for pain yet? You look like you might need it."

"Nah, I'll be…" Boyd rubbed his eyes, and Ava shook her head, irritated at his stubbornness.

"No, he hasn't had anythin', Chief, I think it'd do him some good. He's got a headache, now, too, ain't that right?"

The corner of Boyd's mouth twitched into a half-smile. "Not that I ever said so."

"You don't need to, baby."

"Evidently I don't. Well, Chief, if you have it, some Advil would be delightful right now."

"Advil coming right up" Art said and opened the door to his office. "There's a couch in here, too, case you wanna have a lie-down or something."

"Chief Mullen, thank you for that kind offer, a lie-down would be much appreciated." Boyd dug a thumb into his left temple so hard that action alone looked painful enough.

"Alright then" Raylan said and stood up. "No lie-down for the Marshal Service. I'm gonna get me some more coffee."

"I'm right behind you." Tim stood up as well.

They got themselves more of the shitty coffee and watched as Boyd and Ava sat down on the couch, Boyd downing three pain pills and leaning back. Art closed the door to his office behind himself when he exited it to join Tim and Raylan where they were standing next to Raylan's desk.

"So, Raylan." Art looked at him expectantly. Raylan raised a brow.

"Yes?"

"Come on. What're your thoughts on this? I know you got some."

"Well." Raylan yawned. "Sorry. Uh, I'm thinkin' that someone tried to shoot Boyd."

"And what makes you so sure it wasn't for Ava, too?" Tim asked. "They do work as a team now, right? She's the one runnin' the girls at that whore house. She's in it, too."

"Yeah, Raylan. Just because the last time this happened she wasn't the intended target doesn't mean she isn't now either. It's not the same situation."

"It is the same situation, kinda, Art, think about it. She's in bed with a man she shouldn't be in bed with and someone starts shootin'. Add to that, the only one that gets hurt is said man."

"I think we already established that is was dark and the guy, if it even was a guy, had shitty aim" Tim said.

"And why are we doin' that whole 'we don't know if it's a guy or not' bullshit?" Raylan complained. "I mean, how high is the probability that a girl did this?"

"It's not like none of the girls in Harlan County would have reason to want to kill one of the Crowders – it might've been a whore that was mistreated?" Art suggested.

"Nah. Ava ain't the type to mistreat them girls. I think she takes as good care of them as she's able to."

"The reasons of Harlan girls for shooting notwithstanding" Tim said, "it could've been a girl judging from the shitty aim and stuff."

"What, Tim?" Raylan put on a shocked attitude. "You sayin' women can't shoot? Cause we got a man in Art's office right now whose dead brother might disagree."

"No, listen, man. We know it was dark in the house an' shit when the shots were fired, right? But even so, there musta been enough light in the room that the shooter could see the bed, which meant they had to have been able to see the occupants of said bed, and even in the dark Boyd and Ava Crowder do not look much alike, what with her bein' blonde and him bein' brunette and all."

"I'm not sure I can see where you're goin' with this" Raylan said.

"I'll get to it, promise. At that close a range, you would think one would hit their intended target, even in the darkness. So, considering these circumstances, it seems likely to you that whoever did this, they wanted to get to Boyd, right?"

"Yeah, sure. It's Boyd."

"I know, I got that. But here's what I think. The weapon used was a big caliber. As I said, with the ammunition that was used, Gold Dot hollow-points, it might've been a Desert Eagle Magnum. You ever fired one of these?"

"Nah" Raylan said, and Art shook his head.

"Well, it's a beautiful gun, I'll tell you that, but the kickback?" Tim whistled. "That one's a tricky bitch. If you ain't prepared for it and don't have the strength, it'll go sideways, even from a close range, like five or six feet. And considering that-"

"It might've been a girl that just couldn't handle the kickback of a big caliber. Okay, I get that" Raylan acceded. "So, it could've been a girl. Still, that don't mean it wasn't Boyd they wanted to get. From that close a range, anyone with enough strength for a big caliber would have hit the bullseye, but they didn't, right? Just got Boyd in the side and the arm, an' he's just fine. So no matter who they were tryin' to hit, they didn't succeed, so somethin' has to have gone sideways for them."

"So it must've been someone who hasn't got enough strength for a big caliber…" Art shrugged. "It could just as easily be a skinny guy, or a teenager."

"Or a girl" Tim conceded.

"Right." Raylan sighed and looked back at Art's office. He could see the back of Ava's blonde head, and Boyd was nowhere in sight; he must've lied down after all.

"So we really don't know anything."

"I wouldn't say that" Art said. "I mean, we established that whoever shot at them most likely was weak enough to not be able to handle a kickback. And we know that somewhere in Harlan or surroundings there's a dark coloured truck driving around with its left head light shot to hell. And we got prints."

"If the shooter was stupid enough not to wear gloves" Raylan demurred.

"Which I think they were, because you yourself said it's pretty stupid to smash in a window in the middle of the night, or have you already forgotten that?"

"No, I haven't."

"Any prints forensics were able to get, they'll be able to distinguish whose prints they are" Tim added. "I mean, Boyd and Ava's prints are in the system, obviously. With the amount of times that Crowder's been arrested, he should get, like, a subscription or somethin'."

"I think I'd just like for him to stay behind bars. So, what d'you think? Should we" Art waved a hand through the air, "I don't know, send them home now?"

"I think they'd both have somethin' against protective custody, so, yeah. Let's send 'em home" Raylan shrugged.

Tim frowned. "What if the shooter comes back?"

"Hey, he-or-she didn't manage to do serious damage the first time, so what makes you think they'll manage the next time they try? Furthermore, it's the Crowders. They can take care of themselves. I bet Boyd's already got his guys called, they'll have that Jimmy standin' guard, or Johnny'll sit on the porch with a sawed-off on his knees."

"I guess you're right about that." Tim looked at Art questioningly. "Boss?"

"Okay." Art sighed. "Send 'em on home. Just think, Raylan, they were shaken enough to call you-"

"Ava was. Boyd was sayin' the whole time that she was bein' a baby about it, essentially."

"Okay then, Ava was shaken enough to call you, I guess she had a reason to do so."

"We'll have Harlan PD escort them back, they're goin' in the same direction anyway." Raylan walked up to Art's office. "I'll tell 'em."

He stepped into the darkened office and saw that he'd been right about Boyd lying down: He had his head pillowed in Ava's lap, snoring softly while Ava was gently threading her fingers through his hair.

"Hey there" Raylan greeted her quietly.

"Hey" she tiredly smiled at him. Looking down at Boyd, she murmured, "I kinda like this. He can never fall asleep with me touchin' him, but give him a couple painkillers and he snores with his head in my lap and my hand in his hair in a matter of minutes."

"He looks kinda cute like this, too. Like a big, racist baby."

"So what's the verdict? You gonna send us home?"

"Yeah." Raylan stretched his arms, suppressing a groan when something in his back popped. "Harlan PD'll escort you back, I'm guessin' you'll be able to take care of yourselves, be extra-careful and stuff, and not make as much noise while havin' sex."

"Right." Ava looked at the sleeping Boyd again.

"But, Ava" Raylan said. She lifted her gaze. "Do not leave the state, alright? You're official witnesses in an attempted murder case, whoever it is they wanted to murder. So no trips to book stores in Tennessee, or anythin' like that, you hear me? We'll give you the heads-up as soon as we find out anythin' new, if the prints get a hit or anythin' else, or the local PD will."

"Yessir" Ava said and gave a mock salute. Raylan wondered when she'd talked to Tim.

* * *

I discovered the season 3 blooper reel on youtube two days ago, and I cannot get enough of it... Tim Olyphant falling on his face and being like "Did we get that on camera? Please don't get that on camera!" had me in tears of laughter, and I don't know if Walt Goggins could get any more adorable. "Justified. STILL rolling." Oh GOD.

As always, anybody thinking of reviewing, ain't my place to stop you.


	3. Chapter 3

There's a few things to say about this chapter. Some of you might have seen the movie "Big Trouble" from 2002, based on the novel by Dave Barry (whoop for wikipedia here), and I haven't read the novel, but the movie is EPIC. One of the funniest things I've ever seen. Watched it like twenty times and can still laugh about it. Anyway. I needed a reason for Raylan and Tim to go down to Harlan for this chapter and I couldn't just send them down there and pretend they had a mission when I didn't know what mission it is, so I had to think something up. I have to admit I was too lazy, though, to think everything up myself (the names alone would have been a pain in my ass), so I borrowed names and a bit of the storyline from "Big Trouble". Those of you who haven't seen it, WATCH it, for God's sake, and if you don't want to, Eddie Leadbetter is played by Johnny Knoxville, just so you know who you have to picture with Raylan and Tim.

Oh yeah, that's new. Lots of Tim in this chapter. It's quite the challenge writing him, I have to say. The advice freshouttaideas gave me on that topic helped a bit, though, so thanx for that. Had I not felt the necessity to develope a whole storyline just for Tim and Raylan to be down in Harlan, this chapter (and the next one) would be WAY shorter. Half at least.

But, dear Lord, just read for yourselves.

Have fun!

* * *

The Wolf Mother

* * *

Chapter 3

* * *

The ambush on Ava and Boyd Crowder had been on Monday, and on Thursday the same week Raylan joined Tim on a trip down to Harlan County to hear out a witness in one of Tim's current cases. Tim gave Raylan the heads-up on the way.

"So, Arthur Herk" Raylan said, thumbing through the file he had in his lap. "What was it exactly that he's done? I don't think I got that."

"Oh, it's a great story" Tim said and grinned, keeping his eyes on the road. "See, Arthur Herk was this big thing in a company in Miami, Florida, with a huge house, several huge TV's, a house keeper, trophy wife, a Jag, all that shit."

"Miami." Raylan frowned. "He got anything to do with Theo Tonin?"

"That's what you would think, huh, when hearin' that he's from Miami. But, really, that's not it at all. Herk was head of the finance department of a company for advertising, and then he suddenly disappears, literally dissolves into thin air. No one knows where he is, where he went to, neither his trophy wife nor the hot house keeper that he's been bangin' know where he's gone, nor does the rest of his family, or friends, or colleagues. But I'm bettin' you the colleagues weren't worried, at least not for Herk. You wanna know who they were worried for?"

"Who?"

"Only for themselves, Raylan, only themselves. Cause, turns out the neat advertising company that struck all these amazing deals and was one of the most successful companies in the business, they financed their deals with some really intricate smugglin' system for weapons to and from the Middle East."

"Sorry?" Raylan raised a brow.

"I know, unbelievable, right?" Tim shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "Advertising. Didn't even think you needed that much money for it. But then again, what do I know. Anyway. Apparently they struck a deal with some weapons manufacturers in, say, Turkmenistan, bought the cheaply manufactured weapons from these dealers, and resold the same weapons they purchased for three dollars and a peanut to whoever wanted or needed weapons for this or that war, and they charged the buyers with ten times the price that they paid for them. Looks like the weapons this company bought and resold have been used in Iraq, Afghanistan, even fuckin' Nigeria bought 'em."

"Huh. I can't even keep count of how many laws that shit has broken."

"And Arthur Herk" Tim waved a hand at the file, "as head of finances, hasn't initiated the whole deal, but he obviously knew all about it and went with it, at least for a while, until, well, I don't know the reason, nobody knows because of him disappearin' and all, but maybe one day it got too hot for Herk, or maybe he just wanted to retire, but he tried to blackmail his company."

"Tried" Raylan inquired.

"Exactly. He tried. Didn't exactly work out that well cause he didn't go about it all that smartly. Just told his bosses he had information and that he wasn't afraid to use this information against the company if they didn't give him what he wanted."

"Hell nah."

"S'what I said. Course they didn't stand for it. Sent him a killer, but the guy couldn't have been the brightest bulb in the bunch cause he only shot one of Herk's big ass TV's to hell, and Herk called the police, who started an investigation, and, well, they ain't stupid, the only reason nobody ever suspected anythin' was because it was a company for goddamn advertising."

Raylan shrugged. "I'll bet you on my boots not all of that money they got out of the weapons dealings was spent on advertising."

"Guess we know how Herk financed his Jag, then."

"Right." Raylan frowned. "So, the cops start an investigation, and as soon as they catch wind of what's goin' on Arthur Herk absconds into nowhere with as much money as he can carry."

Tim nodded. "That was seven months ago, and nobody's seen or heard of him since. Until yesterday."

"Yesterday. And that's where we step onto the field… how exactly? I mean, who are we gonna see in Harlan today?" Raylan scratched his head. "Herk?"

"Not Herk himself, no. Though, you never know. With you along, the trouble magnet that you are-"

"Hey now!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Raylan, did I hurt your feelings?" Tim seemed to quite enjoy himself. "Nah, we're gonna see someone else. See, there weren't that many people who even knew that Arthur Herk went missing, if you can call it that. And then suddenly, yesterday, we, the Marshal's Office in Lexington, get an anonymous tip via telephone that Arthur Herk might be hiding in a ditch somewhere in Harlan County, Kentucky."

"An anonymous tip? Someone CALLED?" Raylan looked at Tim. "Are you shittin' me?"

"No, man." Tim's grin was so big it almost split his face in half. "It gets better. Apparently the guy has never even heard of what in vernacular is commonly known as 'Caller ID'. Guy didn't even suppress his number."

"Okay. NOW you're shittin' me."

"Research had a ball with that one. Tracking him was a piece of cake. His name's Eddie Leadbetter, his file's in there."

Raylan skimmed through the pages until he reached the file on Eddie Leadbetter. He picked up the appended mug shot. "Leadbetter. He looks like an idiot, too."

"Eddie Leadbetter, moron ex-con, sat several times for failed theft, failed robbing, failed financial fraud, did his last time for sellin' fake cocaine that was actually just flour mixed with some household cleaners."

"Damn. Has that guy ever managed to do something right?"

"I really don't know, man. You can ask him when we're there. I highlighted the address the call came from, which also is his last known address in Harlan."

* * *

"Hey now, Officers, I don' know shit 'bout anythin'!"

Eddie Leadbetter was forced into a chair by Tim in his kitchen and grimaced. "Ow, man, these are way too tight!" He wiggled his fingers that were cuffed behind his back.

"Okay, first of all" Raylan said and stood in front of him, pointing a finger in his face. "We ain't Officers, we're US Marshals and we would like to be addressed that way. Second" he poked his finger into Leadbetter's chest, "if you don't know shit about anything, why the hell did you try to run away when we told you that we're with the Marshal Service?"

"I dunno. Reflex, I guess? I thought you knew 'bout the scam I pulled at the liquor store in Pine… oh."

"Oh?" Raylan raised his brows expectantly. "Please continue. You were sayin'?"

Leadbetter looked at his feet. "Nuthin'."

"I think I understood somethin' 'bout a liquor store somewhere that sounded like Pineville, didn't you, Deputy Gutterson?"

Tim nodded thoughtfully. "I might've. Hard to tell, the acoustics in this house seriously suck."

"So, what were you doin' in a liquor store in Pineville, Mr. Leadbetter?"

"…nuthin'."

"Nothin', alright." Raylan turned to Tim. "You hear that, Tim? He was doin' nothin', then he can't have done somethin' illegal, huh?"

"Guess so." Tim crouched in front of the poor Eddie Leadbetter. "Mr. Leadbetter, we're not here to talk about Pineville, okay? We're here to ask what you know about the whereabouts of one Arthur Herk."

"I don' know nuthin' 'bout Arsir Hurt." Eddie shook his head.

"Well, see, that's strange because yesterday night at 9 pm you gave the Lexington Office a call to say that Arthur Herk was HERE, in Harlan."

"Nah, that weren't me!" Eddie shook his head vehemently. "I didn' say my name!"

Raylan bit his lip so hard it hurt, but he couldn't suppress a snort of laughter; Tim had himself better in check, though Raylan did see his face contract for a split second.

"Yeah, Mr. Leadbetter, you didn't tell them your name, but since you didn't suppress your number when you called, and you didn't turn your cell phone off after you ended the call, we were able to track you."

"Track…?" Eddie looked utterly lost.

"Yeah, we do that now. Welcome to the twenty-first century." Raylan smiled at him.

"So why don't you just tell us all about that call, and we'll just forget what we heard about Pineville. How about that, Mr. Leadbetter?"

"I dunno… okay."

"Excellent." Tim dragged another chair in front of Eddie Leadbetter and took a seat. "You can start telling now."

"Yesterday I been out drinkin', it was just another day, borin' as hell, an' then they threw me outta that bar cause they said I was too loud or anythin', like, how can you be too loud in a bar? So I stepped out and there was this guy, lookin' all fancy with a suit an' shit, and he had a nice ride, some big car, might've been German or summin', an' I, well…"

Eddie faltered. Tim sighed. "What is it, Mr. Leadbetter?"

"I dunno… you said you're only here for that Arsir Hurt?"

"Yes, that's what I said."

"So, if I done summin' wrong yesterday, that don' matter, either?"

Behind Tim, Raylan wiped a hand over his face in an attempt to keep calm.

"Yeah, Mr. Leadbetter, we don't care about that, either. Just tell us what happened, no matter what you did or didn't do, alright?"

"Right. So, I saw that nice ride the guy had, an' so I just thought, well, he looks like he got money pourin' outta his ass, he can just buy himself a new fancy ride. So I tried to, well, you know… steal it."

Tim motioned for him to continue.

* * *

The questioning of Eddie Leadbetter turned out as pure torture, taking twice as long as it should have with anyone else, and Raylan was sure he had busted a blood vessel in his brain from suppressed laughter, judging from the head ache he had now.

After assuring him, repeatedly, that it was okay to tell them exactly what had happened, Leadbetter had confessed to trying to steal Arthur Herk's nice ride, which didn't work, for one because Eddie Leadbetter was an A-class idiot (although Raylan had added that reason himself), and secondly because Arthur Herk had to have known that cruising around in Harlan with a VW or anything of the kind bore a certain risk, and so when Leadbetter tried to ambush him, Herk stopped Leadbetter with an aluminum baseball bat. In a scuffle, Leadbetter only managed to take Herk's wallet, which was a thoroughly disappointing quarry because the wallet was empty save for five dollars and one of Arthur Herk's business cards.

After running away and spending the five dollars on booze to lick his wounds like a proper failed con, Leadbetter was pissed and decided to just call the Marshal Service, because he figured someone like Arthur Herk, with such a nice ride and suit and business card, couldn't be from around here, and the only reason Eddie Leadbetter could think of for someone like Herk being in Harlan was that he was hiding from something. Or someone. And that meant, to Eddie Leadbetter who only knew one reason for wanting to hide, that Herk was running away from the law.

Raylan wasn't sure he was buying that explanation because it needed a lot of thinking to come to such a conclusion, and thinking just didn't seem to be one of Leadbetter's stronger suits. But neither was lying, so it was all Raylan and Tim had.

Tim was short of crossing the county line when Raylan stopped him. "Hey, you think we could make a short stop somewhere?"

"As long as it's a short one, sure." Tim turned the car. "Where to?"

"Ava's."

When Tim stopped the car so abruptly that Raylan was thrown into his seatbelt a little he shot him an irritated look. "Ow. What the hell'd you do that for?"

"I'm gonna answer that with another question" Tim said and tipped his nose, pretending to think hard. "Like, uhm… what would you want at Ava Crowder's house?"

Raylan shrugged. "I got some information on the shooting and thought I could tell 'em while we're still here, that's all."

"And you can't just give Crowder a call or somethin'?"

"The prints got a hit in one of the databases. I got a name and a mugshot, and I can hardly show Boyd the picture over the phone, now can I."

Tim chewed on his lip for a minute. Raylan rolled his eyes. "Come on! What's there to think about?"

"Well…" Tim sighed. "Alright. Just a short stop at Ava's house to show Boyd the mugshot and tell him the name to see whether he knows the guy, or whether Ava does. That's it, then we're drivin' back."

"That's all I'm askin' for" Raylan nodded.

"Alright." Tim started the car again, a bugged out look on his face.

It had been all Raylan had planned on doing, he'd been completely honest about it. The guy the prints belonged to was one Eddie Moran, who'd just been released from a twenty-year-sentence in the Denmar Correctional Center in Hillsboro, West Virginia, half a year ago. He hadn't been to any meetings with his parole officer, and no-one had seen him since. It was unlikely that Ava knew who that guy was, but Boyd, who'd spent some time in prisons, and a different one each time he'd been incarcerated, might. It could just as easily have been that as soon as Moran got his release he needed a job and someone told him to try and kill Boyd Crowder for some cash. All Raylan wanted to do was ask Boyd about it, see if he recognized either name or face.

But when Tim pulled up in front of Ava Crowder's house, it was dark and quiet. All the windows were not only closed, but also the blinds were down, and the plants that usually stood on the porch were standing in front of it, like Ava had sat them there so they'd receive water from eventual rain because she couldn't water them herself. And Raylan knew the only time when you couldn't water your plants was when you weren't there to do it.

Boyd's truck was not standing in the front yard, which didn't have to mean anything because he could still be at the bar, but Raylan had been sure he wouldn't have found him there. The man had been shot not three whole days ago, and although it was just a graze, it had been a mean one that had taken a lot of skin and bled quite heavily. Raylan knew how hard it was to do any physical activity with a wound like that.

Tim got out of the car with him, but stayed at the driver's side door. "Looks like there's nobody home" he said.

"Looks like." Raylan still walked up onto the porch and knocked. Once, twice, three times. "Ava!" he shouted. "Boyd! If you're there, open up please! I got information about the shooting!"

The house remained still and quiet. Raylan looked back at Tim, who raised an eyebrow. "They're not here."

"Yeah, I can see that." Raylan stared at the railing of the porch, thinking hard. Turning around and descending the stairs, he came to a decision.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?" Tim was looking at him warily.

"Could you do me one more favor?"

"Raylan." Tim rested his forehead against the car door. "I know what you wanna do and the answer is no."

"Come on. You don't know what I was gonna ask."

"You were gonna ask me to drive by Crowder's bar to see whether he's there."

"Well…" Raylan said, dumbstruck.

"Sometimes you're pretty predictable, you know."

"Am I?"

"Right now I can read you like a book."

"So stop reading me. Come on, Tim, just one quick stop-"

"Are you serious?!"

Raylan rested a hand on the hood of Tim's truck. "Doesn't it confuse you that the house is closed down like this? That the plants were moved from the porch, all the blinds pulled down? Even if they were just at the bar, they wouldn't have shut it down like that."

"So they might've up and disappeared?"

"Quite Arthur-Herk-like."

"Then why check the bar?"

"Cause they might still be there."

Tim threw his head back. "They might be in Chicago. Does that mean we have to check Chicago, too?"

"I sincerely hope not." Raylan opened the passenger's side door. "Come on, Tim. I'm even sayin' please. Just five minutes more, and the bar is practically on the way. I can drive if you want some rest."

Tim got behind the wheel with a grim expression. "You're not drivin' my car."

"Fair enough." Raylan grinned at his victory.

Only minutes later they pulled up in front of Johnny Crowder's bar, and as Raylan had thought, Boyd's truck was nowhere to be seen. "You wanna wait here? I'll only be five minutes."

"I think you already said that." Tim turned off the motor. "Why do you want me to not come inside? You think my non-local vibe will sew their mouths shut?"

"Somethin' like that." Raylan shut the car door behind himself. "If I ain't back in ten minutes, you can come, guns ablaze and everythin'."

"Roger that" Tim confirmed and grabbed the Herk file although he already had everything memorized.

Raylan opened the front entrance to the bar and found it was almost empty, save for one lone sad figure in a corner, the one lonely creature trying to drain their sorrows in a glass of alcohol that you could find in any bar in Harlan. He saw Jimmy behind the bar, talking to the silent kid from Boyd's house, Danny, who had a closed book lying in front of him. At the sound of the door opening and closing they both turned to look and recognized him instantly.

"Hey there, Marshal" Jimmy said, a little louder than strictly necessary in an enclosed room. The juke box was playing Johnny Cash on low volume. "What, uhm, can we do for you?"

"I'd like to talk to Boyd" Raylan said with a smile that was impending and friendly enough at the same time.

"Yeah, I, uh" Jimmy's eyes wandered to the door to the backroom for a split second, " I ain't sure if that's possible right now."

"Is Boyd even here right now?" Raylan asked innocently while stepping into the middle of the barroom. "I didn't see his truck out front."

"No way to tell then" Danny spoke up quietly. He was eyeing Raylan with the same indifference he seemed to eye everyone and everything with except for Boyd.

"That so?" The kid immediately set Raylan on edge, and he rested a hand on his holster like he'd done a billion times before. "You wanna think about that some more?"

Jimmy was getting a little nervous, Raylan could tell. Danny wasn't, though. His facial expressions gave absolutely nothing away, and Raylan was shocked at how much the kid reminded him of Tim all of a sudden.

"Nah." Danny said only that and continued to stare at him, and Raylan saw Jimmy visibly relax. He understood that he wouldn't get far like that. If it had been Jimmy alone, Raylan would have had the information he needed by now, but that Danny was a tough nut to crack. He tried a different approach, taking his hand from the holster and lifting both hands in the air in a placating gesture.

"Okay then. Is Johnny here, though? I just wanna talk, nothin' else. I swear."

Jimmy's eyes wandered back to the door. Danny continued to stare at him and the similarities to Tim's piercing sniper gaze became more and more apparent by the second. Raylan actually started feeling uneasy, and he couldn't remember when he'd last been made feel uneasy by someone that young just by being stared at.

Then Danny seemed to suddenly relent. His posture shifted the tiniest bit and his head was tilted slightly to the side in what Boyd would surely have been able to understand as an infinitely telling gesture. "Backroom" he said.

"Thank you" Raylan said and tipped his hat. "I'll help myself."

"No need" Johnny Crowder said and wheeled himself out until he was on one level with the bar. "Heard your voice, so here I am."

"Johnny" Raylan nodded at him.

"Raylan. What can I do for you?"

"I'd like to talk to Boyd" Raylan explained for what felt like the fiftieth time that day.

"That's not possible right now" Johnny said. "Sorry."

"And why would that be?"

"Cause he ain't here."

"I figured as much. I wondered if maybe you could tell me where he is, though."

"You tried Ava's place?"

Raylan rolled his eyes. "Yes, I have, Johnny, stop playin'."

"What? I ain't playin'" Johnny said with an innocent face that Raylan didn't buy for a second.

"Johnny" Raylan sighed. "Quit with the shitty act. I figure Boyd ain't in Harlan right now, and I'd like for you to tell me where he is, now would be best, cause I got a colleague waiting outside who'll come burstin' in here in a couple minutes, and then it's not gonna be just a nice talk anymore, you understand me?"

Johnny wheeled a little further into the room. "Okay, look" he started reluctantly. "We weren't supposed to tell you, but, well, what harm's it gonna do…" He scratched at his forehead with a thumb.

"You're right, Boyd ain't in Harlan. Neither is Ava."

"And where are they?"

"I don't know."

"Jesus, Johnny! It's like pullin' teeth today. I ain't buyin' it." Raylan put both hands on either armrest of Johnny's wheelchair and bent down to look him in the eyes, their faces only inches apart. "Where. The hell. Is. Boyd?"

"I'm tellin' you, Raylan, I don't know! Ava didn't tell me where they were gonna go, only that they won't be in Kentucky the next two days. I swear that's all I know."

Raylan righted himself, surprised. "What did you say?"

"They ain't in Kentucky right now."

"Shit." Raylan gave a disbelieving laugh. "Boyd, you little fucker."

He left the bar without saying goodbye, slamming the door closed behind himself. Tim's head jerked up at the noise. He frowned when he saw Raylan's mood.

"Hey, did you find them?"

"No." Raylan heavily sat in the passenger's seat.

"But you did find something." Tim closed the file, chucking it onto the backseat.

"Yeah."

"Well, since I drove you here and everything, you might wanna share?"

"They're not here, and they're not at the house, because they're outta state."

"Said who?"

"Johnny."

"You believe him?"

"I do. Ain't got no reason not to."

Tim frowned and turned the key in the ignition. "Huh. You tried their cells? Maybe Boyd lied to Johnny, in case anyone asked."

Raylan did as Tim suggested, and much to his chagrin both calls went straight to voicemail. "Shit" he said, stuffing his cell phone back in his pocket.

"Didn't you tell them not to leave the state?" Tim asked.

"That I did."

"Well. For all that he likes to talk, Boyd Crowder seems to be a shitty listener sometimes."

Raylan chewed on his lip, watching the scenery fly by the car, thinking to himself that sometimes with Boyd, that was exactly the problem.

* * *

I'd like to add, here, that I really don't know shit about advertising. I don't watch Mad Men, I think it's boring (yes, I said it!), and I needed a company that would be able to smuggle weapons without anyone being suspicious, so I thought, hey, advertising! That's all there's to it.

Also I noticed that with my Justified stories, I tend to get lost in dialogue. I just hate it when there's not enough dialogue, and then I write and write, and then suddenly there's too much of it and that sucks, too. Well. As long as I get my point across, what does it matter.

Anybody inclined to maybe review, I ain't inclined to disagree.


	4. Chapter 4

Oh. My. GOD. Have you seen episode 8? My faith in this season has been restored, that's all I'm gonna say. (And that I love Boyd, but I'm guessin' that ain't news to y'all.) Also, I think I know who Drew Thompson is, but just in case I do NOT, I'm not telling. Find out for yourselves!

So, the chapter. I wanted to post it tomorrow, but just got a call from work, I gotta cover for someone, which means tomorrow I won't have time for SHIT, and hence I'm posting it now. Again with the movie "Big Trouble", I borrowed charas, names and bits of plot, yadda yadda, and there's a Hot Fuzz reference that, if you've seen the movie once, you'll catch right away.

The chapter is rather long, because I got lost in dialogue a little again, but this time I won't apologize cause freshouttaideas said it's okay, so, it's okay. (Thank you all for the feedback, btw! Everything, even the favs and follows, it just makes my day.) You might expect something else from the end of this chapter, but bear in mind, the story is not over yet.

And on that note:

Enjoy!

* * *

The Wolf Mother

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

During a late lunchbreak the next day, Raylan, Tim and Rachel sat in a deli ten minutes from the office, and Tim told Rachel about their discoveries the previous day.

"And you're a hundred percent sure Johnny Crowder wasn't lying to you?" Rachel asked.

"Johnny's a shitty liar, always has been. I guess workin' with Boyd has taught him a thing or two, but put a little pressure on him and you can see his nerves showing right through." Raylan took a sip from his coffee. "He was tellin' the truth."

"I bet he was pissed" Tim said around a mouthful of sandwich.

"About what?"

"You being able to just pressure information outta him."

"What can I say, it's a gift."

"And what are your plans concerning Crowder now?" Rachel asked and took a bite of her salad.

"I don't know…" Raylan frowned. "I can't track him, his cell's turned off."

"How do you know?"

"Because I already tried."

Rachel raised an eyebrow at him, and Raylan felt the immediate need to defend himself. "What? I told him not to leave the state, and then he just up and disappears!"

"Yeah, YOU told him to, Raylan." Rachel said.

"And what's that supposed to mean now?"

"I think what she wants to say" Tim chimed in, "is that you told the Crowders not to leave the state, but that it's not illegal to leave after being questioned, and we already questioned them."

"And it makes me wonder why you would think that telling Boyd and Ava Crowder not to do something would be enough reason for them not to do it, even when it's in their best interest" Rachel said. "Tell me, you know them better than I do. Has it ever worked?"

Raylan thought about it. Telling Ava not to stay in Harlan… telling Boyd not to turn a weapon on him… telling Ava not to let Boyd stay with her… telling Boyd not to kill Dickie Bennett… "Uhm…"

"I thought so" Rachel nodded. "Why did you think this time would be any different?"

Because Ava was terrified, Raylan thought. Because Boyd was hurt. Out loud he just said, "I think lunch break is almost over for us. Tim, where'd you park the car?"

"Just around the corner, next to that creepy living statue." Tim downed the rest of his coffee. "If this was Sandford, Gloustershire, the thing would be dead already."

"Alright then, let's go." Raylan stood up, just as Tim's cell began to ring. "It's probably Art, wondering where the hell we are."

Tim looked at his phone, frowning. "No, it's not."

"Gutterson?"

His frown deepened as a frantic voice on the line answered him. "Mr. Leadbetter? What is… I can't hear… you WHAT?"

Raylan and Rachel exchanged a glance. "Yes, of course we'll help you, just tell us where you are… yes, you already said that, but the car could be anywhere… yeah, I'll get right on that, I'm not at the office right now… Mr. Leadbetter, what you haven't told me is HOW you got into that trunk."

Raylan's eyes widened. What had that idiot gotten himself into now?

"Okay… okay… and the guy said what to you? Right, sorry, of course, Mr. Leadbetter."

Tim looked at them and rolled his eyes.

"Jesus. Okay, sure let me talk to her." A short pause. "Hello, Jenny, this is Deputy Marshal Tim Gutterson. Yeah, help is on the way. Could you give me Mr. Leadbetter back?"

The call abruptly ended and Tim stared at his phone for a few seconds. "Hung up. Shit."

"Would you care to tell us what this was all about?" Raylan inquired, and Tim shook his head.

"It was Leadbetter, the moron from yesterday, I'm sure you remember."

"Was hard to forget."

"Well, he just called me from a trunk. Yes, a trunk. And not just anyone's trunk, too, it was the trunk of Arthur Herk."

"No shit."

"No shit. Said some guy took him and Herk and a waitress called Jenny as hostages, stuffed Leadbetter and Jenny in the trunk together and took off to somewhere with Herk's nice ride. He let me talk to Jenny, but she couldn't handle the phone apparently."

"Okay…?"

"So I'd say we should get to the office and try to find Mr. Leadbetter and Mr. Herk and the nice waitress."

"By tracking Leadbetter's phone?" Rachel suggested.

"Hell, it worked the first time, and this time Leadbetter actually wants us to find him, so why not?"

The three Marshals left the deli, got into Tim's truck and off they went, Raylan calling Art on the way to let him know what happened. This was going to be one long afternoon.

* * *

It turned out to be more than just a long afternoon for the Marshal Service on this Friday. It turned out to be a long, long evening. And, as hard to believe as it had been for Raylan and Tim, the fault did not lie with the most likely suspect, Arthur Herk, nor did it lie with the dumbest suspect, Eddie Leadbetter. It was all on a poor guy named Henry Desalvo.

See, Henry Desalvo was 65 years old and had never in his entire life spent one whole day outside of Harlan County. He'd been working at the mine on and off until he was too sick to keep doing it, and was now living off a meager pension and spending a good portion of that on alcohol. Desalvo had been hating his life for quite some time now, but this Friday he reached his breaking point, when he found out that his wife, Anna, fifteen years his junior, was leaving him for a realtor named Walter Kramitz. (Raylan could commiserate.)

Henry was sitting on a bench in front of a small diner that his 29-year-old car had broken down next to when Anna called him to let him know, and Henry Desalvo, well, he just lost it. Grabbed the sniper rifle he kept under the driver's seat and stormed into the diner, grabbing the first two people he could reach, which turned out to be Arthur Herk, and a harmless waitress named Jenny Herk (quite the coincidence, but no relation), and dragged them outside to where Arthur Herk said his car was standing, which at exactly that minute Eddie Leadbetter was trying to steal again, and failing. Again. Instead of making a big fuss about it, Henry Desalvo just decided to let Leadbetter join his illustrious circle of hostages and stuffed him and the waitress unceremoniously into the, luckily quite roomy, trunk.

Arthur Herk was the lucky guy that got to ride shotgun with the guy with the rifle, and Eddie Leadbetter turned out to be the guy with the cell phone who'd found out the day before that Marshals could track you now if they had your phone number, and he decided that now, in the trunk of the car that he'd tried to steal twice and that was now being driven to God knew where by an armed lunatic, was as good a time to test that statement as any. He'd saved Deputy Gutterson's number, acting on the suggestion by the tall Marshal with the cool hat, and Eddie Leadbetter would be eternally grateful for that.

The four hours it took to dissolve the hostage situation and clear the fact that since Arthur Herk was not only a hostage, but also a criminal and federal fugitive who was sought-after in at least two states, and that because of this, yes, it was indeed the Marshal Service's purview and the FBI could stick their complaints up their federal asses, were a long enough time to take up his day in Raylan's opinion. But when added to the three and a half hours it took to drive down to Harlan, everything had lasted that much longer. Suddenly night time came around while the FBI loaded Desalvo into one of their vehicles and the Marshals loaded Herk into one of theirs.

FBI took Leadbetter's statement on location and generously let the Marshal Service "listen in", as they called it, and Jenny Herk, the frightened waitress that was just in the totally wrong place at the wrong time, was next, delivering her recount of the events with a shaking voice and a sob here and there. Once it was dissolved and everyone was preparing to leave, Art and Tim strolled over to where Rachel and Raylan stood and sighed.

"FBI already has booked Desalvo a cell in McCreary, the case is all theirs now 'cept for Herk of course, and Tim's got him loaded into the back of his truck" Art explained. "So I guess we can call it a day. Me and Tim'll get back to the station, load off Herk, and you can decide whether you go home, or if you're so crazy about the paperwork you wanna get started tonight."

"I'll vote for going home" Tim stated.

"Me too" Rachel agreed, niftily hiding a yawn.

"Yeah, you know what, I gotta do somethin' real quick" Raylan said. "You go on ahead, I'll be right behind you."

He was fixed with three stares; confused (Rachel), exasperated (Art), resigned (Tim). "What?" he said defensively.

"Raylan" Art said, shaking his head. "Do you want to kill me?"

"No. Not today, anyway. Why?"

"You do remember Christmas Eve, right? You can't have forgotten it. It was quite memorable, don't you think? At least it was for me, when I had to search for you and thought you might be dead while you spent hours in a stuffy closet with Boyd Crowder who puked on my shoes when we got you out. I had to throw that pair of shoes, by the way. Ruined. And all of that" Art kept going, despite Raylan's multiple tries to interrupt him, "all of that, because you headed off to Harlan on your own, just to have a quick chat with Crowder-"

"Art, I didn't forget" Raylan finally managed to get in. "What's it got to do with anything?"

"I'll tell you what's it got to do with anything, Raylan" Art ranted, "it's got everything to do with anything! I know where you wanna go now, I know because Tim told me where you went after talking to Leadbetter, and the answer is no. Not again. You're not going round Harlan alone, especially not if you're gonna talk to Crowder. You can go check whether he's back on Monday and show him the goddamned mugshot on MONDAY, or do it during your time off if it's so important to you, because it's 10 pm on a Friday night and you're all going home right now."

"What about the paper-"

"The paperwork was a joke!" Art was actually a little out of breath now.

"Art" Raylan said calmly, "you're absolutely right, we should all go home now. I'm sorry."

"Just like that?" Art scrutinized him suspiciously. "You're never just giving in like that. That was too easy."

"I just figured you're absolutely right, Art" Raylan shrugged nonchalantly. "If it's so important to me to show Boyd the mugshot I can do it on my time off."

"Really?" Art still wasn't buying it.

"Really."

"You're serious?"

"Yes!"

"Alright then" Art reluctantly said. "So you're gonna drive home now?"

"I am."

"No tricks?"

"What tricks?"

"I honestly don't know." Art sighed. "So you'll look for Crowder tomorrow? Or on Monday?"

"We'll see."

"Okay. I can only do so much." Art turned around and waved at Tim. "Come on, we got a fugitive to deliver into custody."

"Comin', boss, just a second" Tim said and took the car keys out of his pocket. He looked at Raylan with that uncanny I-know-all-about-you-stare that he had to have borrowed from Boyd's face.

"You ain't going home now, are you?" he murmured in a low voice so that Art couldn't hear. Rachel looked like she'd been wanting to ask the exact same question.

"Oh, I am" Raylan said. "Just not… directly."

"But you said you'll do it during your time off" Rachel said.

"Well, we're off the clock now, ain't we?"

"Whatever, man" Tim said, shaking his head. "Just don't get caught."

"I won't."

"That includes you having to lie low" Rachel demurred. "Don't stir up trouble, huh?"

"I won't" Raylan said, frowning. "I feel like my reputation's been suffering a bit. It's really not that bad."

"Whatever" Tim repeated.

"Hey, if it makes you feel better, I can give you a call tomorrow mornin', tell you how it went" Raylan offered. "How's that sound?"

Tim thought about it for a minute. "Okay" he said.

"Tim!" Art shouted from the passenger's seat in Tim's truck.

"Gotta go" Tim said and waved, before leaving Raylan and Rachel to themselves, climbing into his truck with Art and Herk and starting on his way to the Lexington office.

Rachel gazed at him hard, then sighed. "Whatever you think you need to do, Raylan" she said. "I'm not gonna tell Art, I guess, but if he finds out, there'll be hell to pay."

"He ain't gonna find out."

"Right." Rachel's face was the picture of disbelief.

"He won't."

"Okay" she said, like Tim had a minute before. She opened her mouth, then closed it again like she'd wanted to say something and then changed her mind, finally just telling him to "Take care", before walking towards her own car to make the drive home. Raylan's eyes followed her until she was out of sight. Then he turned towards his own car. He still had some plans tonight, and the first thing on his list was to ask what the hell Boyd and Ava had been thinking when they left the country just like that.

Ava's house was dark and silent when Raylan arrived. But the plants were back on the porch, and the blinds weren't closed any longer, and there was Boyd's truck, parked directly in front of the house, in plain sight. It was enough for Raylan to know that they were back, and with purpose he got out of his Lincoln, slamming the door and strolling up the porch to knock on the frame of the screen door so hard the whole house seemed to shake and his hand felt like it might be broken.

The house remained silent, but Raylan knew they were there, so he didn't stop, and after knocking for ten minutes or so, light went on in the hallway, and he could see movement behind a window in the kitchen. Only seconds later the door opened and revealed a very sleepy looking Ava, hair a mess, eyes nothing but tired slits, her sawed-off in one hand, door knob in the other. Her untied robe showed the silky nightgown she was wearing underneath, and even the gown looked rumpled and tired.

"Raylan?" she mumbled. "The hell you doin' here? Why you knockin' so loud…?"

"What I'm doin' here?" Raylan asked, disbelieving. "I think I can answer that with another question, like, where the hell were you yesterday?!"

"Raylan, please, stop shouting" Ava said, rubbing a hand over her face. "You'll wake up Boyd."

"Good, that's what I'm here for."

"To wake up… Raylan, come in and explain what the hell is goin' on to me, okay?"

She opened the door for him. "And please" she added, "keep it down. I mean it. If you wake him up I'll hit you with a fryin' pan."

Raylan frowned, but kept silent until him and Ava were seated at her kitchen table, Ava propping her head up heavily on one arm. She looked worn down to the bone.

"So, what is it that you needed to talk to me about so urgently it couldn't wait til tomorrow?" she asked slowly.

Raylan sighed, realizing he'd left the mugshot in the car. "I got information about the shooting."

"Really?" That woke Ava up a little.

"Yeah. Some guy named Eddie Moran, I figure you don't know that name."

"No, I don't" Ava shook her head, yawning. "Boyd might, though, you can ask him in the mornin'."

"I will, most definitely. I got his picture in the car. The prints forensics got off of your door handles and stuff were his."

"That's… that's good, Raylan." Ava blinked tiredly at him. "An' why did you need to tell me that in the middle of the night?"

"Well" Raylan answered, getting pissed again, "I would have asked you yesterday round noon, but turns out you weren't here. So I went to the bar to see if you were there, and, see, you weren't THERE either. So I asked Johnny, and guess what he told me?"

"I know what he told you, he told me and Boyd all about it when we came back two hours ago." Ava sighed. "We were outta state for the last two days, Raylan."

"And that is what I would like to talk to you about, because I think I remember tellin' you, on Monday, or rather it was Tuesday mornin', to NOT leave the state cause you were, no, ARE witnesses in an attempted-murder case, now, didn't I."

"Yeah, Raylan, you did…"

"And I would just like an explanation for why you did the exact same thing that I told you NOT to do, when it was you who called ME in the middle of the night, scared half to death, askin' for help, and when I'm offerin' it to you, you go an' do the exact opposite of what I said would help you!"

"Raylan, I get it, okay? I get it, you're pissed at me!" Ava hissed. "Keep it down, goddamnit! I truly am sorry about that, but I got a very good explanation for why we had to leave for two days. If you can just be quiet for a minute and listen to me, I can explain it all to you, and you can stop shoutin', alright?"

"Alright" Raylan allowed. "But I ain't just pissed at you, I'm pissed at Boyd, too. You took off together, after all."

"Well, you don't have to go and be mad at Boyd, though. You told me not to go outta state, an' Boyd was asleep, remember?"

"Yeah, course, but, I mean…" Realization dawned on him. "You didn't tell him I said that?"

"No, I didn't." Ava gave him a petulant look. "If I had, he would've wanted to stay, I just know it, and I couldn't have that. See, Boyd always thinks he knows what's best, but sometimes he just don't, an' then it's my job to make sure he's okay."

"Like when you called me even though Boyd didn't want you to?"

"Like that. Look, you remember Christmas Eve?"

Raylan looked at the ceiling. "Even if I tried to forget it, I wouldn't be able to cause you all can't seem to stop remindin' me of it, so yeah. I remember."

"Then you remember Boyd was kinda sick that day, too, I mean, even before you two spent hours in that closet together."

"Yeah, I think he said somethin' about… a disagreement with his stomach or somethin'?"

"Yeah, that's what it looked like, and after I got him home that night and fed him some of my Christmas dinner he fell asleep pretty quickly and he was doin' fine. And then a week later, he was getting' sick again, and he had a headache, too, and he told me it felt exactly the same as he'd felt on Christmas Eve, and then he said he had some kinda… flicker in front of his eyes, so I went to one of 'em internet cafes and googled these symptoms, and what I got was 'migraine'. An' Boyd just didn't get better, so Friday before the shooting I made an appointment with some specialist in Chicago, a neurologist specialized on migraines."

Raylan just stared at her.

"Course Boyd didn't wanna go, always with his 'I'm feelin' fine, baby, no need to waste our money on some doctor in Illinois' an' shit, but I was so worried for him, and then he did have that flicker again and felt like shit afterwards, so he finally relented. And then the shooting happened and I knew, if Boyd had just one reason to NOT go to Illinois and see that goddamned doctor, he'd jump at the chance, so I didn't tell him what you said to me, and I truly am sorry, Raylan, I am, for lyin' to you, but at the same time I'm not sorry cause I know now what's wrong with Boyd and I just can't make myself be sorry for that."

Raylan tried to digest that speech. "Okay" he finally said. "So… was it a migraine, then?"

"It is, yeah. Boyd's had them his whole life, but they've never been as bad as lately. He told me that Bo always said that migraines are just somethin' that women pretend to get when they don't wanna put out and that's why Boyd never got to see a doctor about it when he was younger, and when he got older he just tried to ignore it and write it off as normal headaches. The flicker in front of the eyes is new, though, but the doctor said it's a really common symptom for migraines. It's called an aura."

Raylan nodded. "So… that's it, then? No secret trip to God knows where seekin' for revenge?"

"That's what you thought we were doin'? Raylan" and Ava laughed, "we had no idea who did it! We already told you. Guess you really didn't believe us, huh."

"No, I didn't, I have to admit. Sorry. So you been on the road nonstop the last two days?"

"Yeah." Ava yawned again. "Ten hours to get there, ten hours back. Boyd drove yesterday, I drove today." She stretched her sore limbs out. "It was brutal, but at least the weather was kind, no rainstorms or blizzards, just low temperatures and a lot of sun. It was kinda nice, you know. The appointment was this mornin', eight o'clock, and we left immediately afterwards, but yesterday in the evenin' we arrived at six and took a look around Chicago before takin' a room in some cheap motel. Chicago is beautiful, Raylan." Ava's eyes were big now as she smiled at him. "I've never seen such a huge and alive city. It was… amazing."

"I hear you." Raylan smiled back. "Never been to Chicago, but I always imagined it to be just like that."

"Yeah." She sagged a little in her chair. "An' now I'm just beat, I guess you understand. Two days of bein' on the road non-stop'll do that to you. The doc gave Boyd some meds, said that if the pain got too bad he should take one of them, or two, we have to see which dosage works best for him. He got a mean headache on the drive back and took two of them pills when we got here, an' let me tell you they worked really fast. He barely made it up the stairs and onto the bed before collapsin' in a heap. I had to take off his shoes and pants, everythin', an' he slept right through it."

"Well, then there ain't no risk of me wakin' him by speakin' too loud."

"Yeah, well, we don't really need to put that theory to a test" Ava said determined.

"Okay." Raylan held up his hands. "I'll be good."

"Good." Ava shot him a look that screamed "you better be" and he thought about her threat with the frying pan that he didn't necessarily want to put to the test, either.

"So, if Boyd's asleep an' I ain't allowed to wake him, I'll best be on my way then" Raylan said and made to stand up.

"Hold up, Raylan, what're you talkin' 'bout?" Ava frowned at him.

"What d'you mean, what am I talkin' about? I gotta get home if I want any sleep tonight."

"That's where you're wrong" Ava said with an indulgent smile. Raylan wondered when everybody had started copying Boyd's expressions. "You can stay the night if you want."

"While that's certainly nice to offer, I don't want. So I'll just show myself out."

Raylan stood up, and Ava sighed, exasperated. "Raylan, come on, don't be like that."

"Don't be like what?"

"I ain't tryin' to sleep with you, Raylan, not anymore. I just want to spare you the drive back to Lexington in the middle of the night. It's gonna be close to 2 am 'till you're there."

"I know that, Ava, an' it ain't a thrillin' thought, so no need to remind me of it."

"Just stay on the couch, then! Or in the spare room if you don't mind some of Danny's stuff still lyin' around. It's mostly books, anyway, and a couple pairs of socks."

Wondering who would leave such a strange combination of belongings behind, Raylan shook his head. "It actually sounds nice, Ava, but you gotta think. My boss wasn't exactly thrilled about you callin' me, of all people, for help in the first place, and I guess I'm the one to blame for that because I was the one, asked Boyd along on the trip to the pantry from hell. But me stayin' the night now, that would kinda throw a misguidin' light on me, don't you think?"

"Misguidin' in what sense?" Ava asked with a raised brow.

"You know in what sense. Boyd's a criminal. You're his…" Raylan waved a searching hand through the air. "You're supportin' him. Not too long ago fuckin' FBI was convinced I was in Boyd's pocket-"

"Why'd you do it, anyway?"

"Huh?" Raylan suddenly felt a little trapped; he knew what question Ava was gonna ask him, and he wasn't sure he had an answer at the ready.

"Why'd you ask him along?"

Raylan chewed on his lip, staying silent. The expression on Ava's face was way too knowing for comfort.

"You don't wanna tell me? I'll just take that as 'you know why, but don't wanna tell me', an' that's okay, I guess. Why'd you help us when I called you?"

"Because" Raylan tried and cleared his throat. When had this situation become so uncomfortable? "You were scared, and Boyd was hurt, an' I… it was a serious situation. It was the right thing to do."

"You could have left us to it."

"I just didn't, okay?"

Ava scrutinized him for another few seconds, then relented, finally. "Okay. I'm grateful, still, you know. I was really scared. Boyd was, too, he just didn' wanna show it. And because of that, Raylan, you're gonna stay the night."

He stared at her dumbfounded. "Because of what?"

"Boyd an' I, we're scared, still. Havin' a Marshal around for protection, that's gonna help us sleep better. Or, well, help me. Boyd would sleep through a meteor strike right now."

"Ava, I don't know…"

"You can either drive home now, arrive in the wee hours of the mornin' and get little to no sleep, or you can stay here, get a good night's sleep, and have a nice an' healthy breakfast with me and Boyd in the mornin' and drive home awake an' rested with a full stomach. Don't that sound great?"

It did, kind of. He'd be able to show Boyd the mugshot, too, and tell Art he did postpone the mugshot thing until the next day without lying. Killing two birds with one stone.

"You know what, fine" he said. "I'll take the couch."

"Great." She smiled at him real big then and stood up to get him pillows and a blanket; Ava was nothing if not thorough.

Later Raylan stretched out on the couch, heard Ava close the door to the bedroom where Boyd was sleeping off the effects of his meds and apparently hadn't even flinched, and asked himself the questions Ava had asked him. He knew why he'd asked Boyd along. The man had had his back on numerous occasions. He might have been a con and a liar, but he'd never intentionally put Raylan's life at risk, and the way they knew each other, having grown up together, having worked the mines together, Raylan didn't think anyone from the Marshal Service would have been that much better at having his back than Boyd.

Why he'd helped them when Ava had called, that was the question that had Raylan's mind reeling. He hadn't even consciously asked himself that question, he'd just acted on his Marshal instincts. Someone called for help, he helped; especially seeing as Boyd and Ava had just been victims for once. Sure, they had to have done something to elicit such a reaction. But Boyd had been hurt. He'd been shot.

Memories of a dream he'd had emerged, and Raylan tried to blink them away. It didn't work this time.

Raylan nodded off to the image of a dead Boyd coming at him with open arms and the question of whether he'd made a mistake by staying here. The answer eluded him as his awareness of where he was slipped away and he fell into an undisturbed and dreamless sleep.

* * *

As it so happens, I made references to two of my other Justified fics, "The Key to Every Door" AND "The Fade Out Line". I do apologize for that. But I guess you get the gist of it even if you haven't read them, so I hope it's still okay.

As for the migraine thing, I have that, too, and I only had it diagnosed a month ago, at age 22, so I thought that it's not that unrealistic to never get the confirmation until you're in your fourties if your father never let you see a doctor about it when you're young. Everything else, all the symptoms Boyd has, I borrowed from myself and made them a tad worse, for some proper whump. As I said, the story ain't over yet. Something's bound to happen, just you wait. It'll all add up in the end, I hereby promise.

Y'all wanna review, I certainly won't complain.


	5. Chapter 5

So. You seen ep 9? We get to know who Drew Thompson is. And I say: I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT, I SO KNEW IT! If you don't believe me, ask TellatrixForever, I told him my suspicions about Thompson's identity in February. Meheheh, I'm always wrong at guessing these things, it feels like I won the fucking Oscar when I got it right this time. YAY!

Anyway, the story. This chapter is shorter than the others, but you'll see why at the end.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Wolf Mother

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

Raylan had taken the couch for two reasons. The first was that he did not particularly like the thought of sleeping between worn socks. Secondly, he'd planned on getting up early, waking Boyd to show him the goddamned mugshot, migraine meds notwithstanding, and then get the hell out of Harlan County before Tim called or anyone noticed he hadn't come home last night. He should have known from the start that leaving Harlan was never that easy.

Raylan woke up at 9 to the sound of his cell phone ringing; it took him half a minute to understand where he was, and another thirty seconds to understand that it was his cell phone that was ringing and to find it, lying on the couch table not three feet away.

Without checking the number he answered, voice still rough from sleep. "Givens?"

"Hey, man, I thought you weren't gonna answer!" It was Tim. Damn.

"Tim. Hey. Yeah. Sorry 'bout that. Uhm."

"Did I wake you?"

"You kinda did, but it's okay." Raylan yawned into his hand.

"Well, I was just wondering when you were gonna call, so I thought I'd beat you to it and ask how it went last night."

"Yeah. Bout that…"

"What about it? You said you were gonna go there, one way or another."

"I did go there."

"But Boyd wasn't home?"

"Oh, he's here."

"But…"

"Well, he was asleep, and Ava didn't let me wake him…"

"So you didn't show him the mugshot? Jesus, man, that's why you went there, wasn't it?"

"Not yet I haven't. I'm still planning on doing that, you know."

"Well, that's… good, I guess, but… do you really wanna make that drive again, just so that him and Ava just get lost again? I wouldn't wanna take that risk. Have you tried calling them? No, of course you haven't yet, I just woke you."

"Tim, I don't need to make that drive again."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds, and Raylan would have liked to see Tim's expression when understanding started settling in; Tim wasn't usually that slow on the uptake.

"Did you say he's HERE?"

"I guess I did."

"What do you mean by 'here'?"

"Harlan?"

"And you are…"

Raylan sighed. "I'm in Harlan, too. I stayed the night, Tim."

"At Ava's house?"

"Yeah." Raylan closed his eyes, waiting for an explosion of "what were you thinking", but Tim surprised him.

"Oh… okay. How'd that happen? Ava ask you to stay?"

"Yeah" Raylan said, not quite successful in masking his surprise at Tim's relaxed reaction. "Offered me the couch and breakfast…"

"Well, that's cool, I guess. You can show Crowder the mugshot and still tell Art that you did it the next day without lying to him. Sneaky."

"Well, what can I say, I'm a sneaky bastard."

"But after breakfast you're gonna leave, right?"

"I was plannin' to, anyway. I could… give you a call tonight to tell you how that went, and then I can also tell you whether Boyd knew the guy that tried to riddle him with bullets in his bed."

"And let me guess – if you don't call by 10 pm and don't answer your phone I have to send the cavalry down there to save you."

"That would be really nice of you, Tim."

"Well, what can I say, I'm… nice."

"And I appreciate it" Raylan stretched and looked at his watch. "Damn, it's late. I'll go check if Boyd's awake yet, huh?"

"Alright then, good luck with that."

"Thanks. I'll call you."

"Later, Raylan."

Raylan hung up. That went well, he thought and forced himself to a standing position in the hopes of finally catching Boyd; he was definitely too old to be sleeping on anyone's couch, even if it was as comfortable as Ava's. His back made sure to remind him of that fact. Sighing, he entered the kitchen and saw Ava was already up and about, making coffee. She smiled at him when he entered.

"Mornin', Raylan. That was your colleague on the phone, right? Deputy… Gutson?"

"Gutterson, yeah. You heard that?"

"This is quite the open house, Raylan, it was hard not to. But, to answer your question, Boyd's already awake. He's in the shower."

"Good, that's good." Raylan stretched again, and his back decided to flip him the finger. "Jesus" he grimaced, and Ava grinned.

"I bet you regret not takin' the guest room now, don't you. It's not an entire bed, but at least it's a mattress, and I reckon that's gotta be more comfortable than a couch. Danny certainly never complained about it in the months he slept there."

"Yeah, well, Danny's still a goddamn kid. He could sleep on the couch for a month and it wouldn't hurt him."

"Danny ain't THAT young. I think he's 'bout to turn twenty-nine."

Raylan frowned. "Looks younger."

"His mind's younger than that, as well" Ava said. "S'what happens when you get stuffed in jail before you're all grown up, I guess."

"What did he sit for, anyway?"

"Why, Raylan, I thought you would've checked up on his file soon as you seen him for the first time."

"Okay, you got me there. Just, kid's so skinny an' shit, and the way he acts, I just can't imagine he'd be the type for physical assault."

"You don't know the whole story" Ava said and shook her head. "It's a sad one, too. His family should be ashamed of themselves for treatin' him like that…"

"So tell me the sob story then." Raylan sat himself heavily down on a chair.

"Ain't none of my business tellin' you, Raylan. You wanna know, you can ask him yourself, an' then Danny can decide himself whether he wants to tell you or not."

"I can save myself the time" Raylan replied. "He ain't gonna talk to me, I don't think he likes me very much. Also, Boyd told me he don't talk to anyone but Boyd himself anyway."

"You can still ask him. He's been loosenin' up a little, you know. Jimmy gets along quite well with him. You can try talkin' to him about literature, that almost always gets him to talk."

"Yeah, cause I know so much about books. I can already see it: 'Hey, Danny, ain't it a shame Michael Crichton ain't with us no more? Why'd you beat a naked guy to mush with a baseball bat?' I don't think that's gonna work out so well."

Ava laughed. "Not like that, it won't."

At that point Boyd came down the stairs, looking at Raylan blearily. "Mornin', Raylan."

"Mornin', Boyd! Good to see you."

Boyd frowned. "Well, Raylan, not that I ain't pleased to hear you say that, since it's always good to see you, too, but may I ask what brought about the change of heart? You ain't usually so happy to see me."

"Well, I got information 'bout the shooting, or the shooter, to be precise…"

"Oh yeah, I remember. Ava told me when I got up." Boyd gave Ava a kiss on the forehead and accepted the mug with coffee that she passed him. "Mornin', baby. Thanks."

"No problem, Boyd. Sit. Raylan, you want coffee, too?"

"Please."

"I'm makin' eggs with bacon. There's toast in the cupboard, Raylan, if you could get that, please."

"Why me?"

"Because I'm askin' you to." Ava looked at him expectantly.

"Ava, I can get the toast…" Boyd got up and swayed a little. "Good Lord, these pills. I ain't never takin' two of 'em ever again." He sat back down and rubbed his eyes.

"That bad?" Raylan asked, finally getting up and conceding Ava's wishes to get the toast.

"I feel like my head's stuck in a barrel filled with fog." Boyd angily tried to blink the bleariness away. "Like I can't seem to wake up. It's quite the objectionable state to be in for me."

"You sound like your usual articulate self, though, no worries" Raylan assured him and accepted a mug from Ava. He went to take a sip, but stopped short. "Ava, was it a coincidence that you picked this mug for me?"

Ava grinned and shrugged, keeping silent. It was a white mug, with two speech bubbles on it. The first said: "Honey, the coffee tastes different today." The second one answered: "Poison."

"Oh. Did she give you that one?" Boyd chuckled. "Danny gave it to me for Christmas, I found it quite amusing."

"Okay then… seein' as you're still alive. It is kinda funny, long as it ain't a recurring theme."

Raylan did take a sip then, and the coffee tasted like coffee should. Not poison-y at all.

"So. You have information 'bout the shooter, you said?" Boyd looked at him expectantly.

"Right!" Raylan stood up. "The mugshot's in the car, let me just get it real quick."

When he got back inside, Ava was already frying eggs, and she smiled at him when he stepped into the kitchen and said, "I'm sorry, Raylan, I didn't ask how you wanted your eggs, so I just scrambled them, I hope it's okay with you?"

"Totally okay" Raylan said and sat down, throwing Boyd the picture. "That's Eddie Moran. Did twenty years in Hillsboro for first degree murder, got his release half a year ago, and the prints forensics took are all his, so it's gotta be him. You know him?"

Boyd was staring at the picture hard for at least a minute before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Raylan, he don't ring a bell."

"Not at all? Nothin'?" Raylan couldn't help being disappointed.

"Nothin', I'm sorry." Boyd frowned. "When was that picture taken?"

Raylan looked at it and frowned himself; he had no idea. But Moran was only slightly older now than Raylan and Boyd and looked the part on the photograph so it couldn't be older than five years, and he told Boyd as much. The man on the photograph had dark brown hair that looked greasy and unkempt, and three days worth of stubble, and a ridiculous moustache to top it off. The face was haggard, and his physical stats recorded two days before his release matched what Tim had said about the kickback of a big caliber: Moran was about Boyd's height, maybe an inch shorter, but weighed less than him, and it had been said in his file that he'd received an injury to his shoulder during a brawl. A man like him would not be able to handle a tricky kickback without practice.

"Well, that's kinda disappointin'" Raylan sighed and dug into the eggs that Ava dished up. They were, as to be expected, delicious.

"You're tellin' me, Raylan" Boyd said and poked at his food. "I would like to know who's after my life this time, as well."

"You think it weren't his idea?"

"I don't know that man, so why would he wanna kill me? It might've been a scheduled ambush, only someone didn't have high standards when hirin' a hatchet man."

"Maybe whoever did this didn't have enough money to buy themselves a proper contract killer."

"That would disqualify Dixie Mafia."

"Would the Dixie Mafia like to see you dead?"

Boyd kept his eyes on the plate in front of him. "Not that I know of, but as I think I already told you once, I don't know everythin'."

"Boys, shut up an' eat. Eat, Boyd, I mean it."

Ava looked at them expectantly and Raylan noticed that Boyd hadn't really eaten anything yet, and he didn't seem partial to it either. "Baby, I will eat when I'm hungry, but right now I'm not. I'd rather not risk it. Alright?"

Ava sighed, relenting. "Alright then, Boyd. But drink some juice, at least. Drinkin' just coffee will make you vomit just as much."

Raylan eyed Boyd's plate hopefully. "Hey, if you ain't eatin' that-"

"Knock yourself out" Boyd replied and pushed his untouched plate towards him. Raylan accepted it gratefully; he was starved and hadn't even noticed it until now. The last he'd had anything to eat was the late lunch yesterday, and that had just been a sandwich and a quarter of Rachel's salad.

Boyd's cell phone rang then, and he slowly stood up and answered the call in the living room, speaking with a low enough voice that Raylan couldn't understand any of it. He frowned at Ava who sat next to him, eating her own share of scrambled eggs. "Hey, Ava?"

"Yes."

"You said this was an open house where it's hard not to overhear anythin'."

"I did say that." She looked at her plate, face a picture of innocence.

"How come I don't understand a word of what Boyd's sayin'?"

"Because I might've eavesdropped a little, Raylan." She smiled at him and shrugged like people did it on an every day basis, like sneezing or riding a bike.

Raylan didn't even know how to respond to this. Boyd ended the call and came back into the kitchen by then, and he said, "Raylan, when you're leavin' Harlan, can you drop me off at the bar? I gotta handle somethin' real quick."

"Okay, sure. But how you gonna get back? Or are you plannin' on stayin' a while? Cause, you know, you got shot on Monday and are under some heavy meds, so I don't think you're fit to-"

"Raylan, you're startin' to sound like Ava already and it's adorable, but if all goes well, my ride back home should already be there. So let the rest be my worries, just drop me off, thank you kindly." Boyd grinned a toothy grin at him before making his way up the stairs, probably to put on something else than the battered Army t-shirt that he most likely would only be caught dead wearing it anywhere else than at home.

Raylan made good on his promise of giving Boyd a ride, and it was obvious that Boyd still wasn't completely off the meds yet when Raylan saw him nod off on the ten-minute-drive to the bar.

"Boyd?" He poked the other man in the shoulder. Boyd jerked awake.

"What? Shit. Did I fall asleep?" He shook his head. "Goddamnit. What's in these pills? Tranquilizers?"

"Ava told me 'bout that migraine thing, she said you've had them all your life."

"Yeah." Boyd suddenly looked a little uncomfortable.

"Was that what happened to you that one time in high school when you hurled all over the floor during math?"

"Yeah."

"And when you-"

"I'm gonna go now, Raylan, someone's waitin' for me inside" Boyd said curtly and got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride" he added before slamming the door closed and leaving a quite confused Marshal in the wake of his hurried goodbye.

Raylan watched Boyd disappear into the bar and wondered what that had been all about. Why'd he have such problems talking about his migraines with Raylan? He honestly did not understand. But, oh well, Raylan thought and made to turn the car and drive home to Lexington and give Tim the promised call. His wandering gaze caught a dark brown truck standing in the parking lot. Must be Boyd's ride, Raylan thought. Huh.

A thought struck him, and he turned off his car, stepping out of it to take a closer look at the truck.

And he saw it. The left head light, blown to bits.

Oh.

Shit.

* * *

See, I've never been partial to cliffhangers, but this just offered itself while writing, so I took it. Hope I got your attention?

The next chapter is the last one, and the one where everything will come together and make some sense. I hope. Other than that, I'm stewing over something big. You'll get a hint of what it's all about at the end of the next chapter.

Anyone wanna review or not, you just go right ahead.


	6. Chapter 6

This is it. The last one. I hope it does make sense now.

WARNING: This chapter contains non-explicit descriptions of non-con and physical violence; also there's a suicide, a joke about rape, and the image of someone flushing a testicle down the toilet. If you're really sensitive, this chapter might not be for you. What can I say, I'm… insensitive.

Furthermore, you'll notice something and go like, "WHAT! Boyd sat in Alderson! Not Huttonsville!" But trust me on this, just read, I'll explain at the end.

Enjoy!

* * *

The Wolf Mother

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

Raylan immediately pulled his service weapon, gripping it tight. Shit, he thought, shit, shit, shit! Opening the front door to the bar, he just caught the end of a sound that he REALLY did not like to hear at all: A muffled shout, then the dull sound of something hitting the ground. Something heavy. Maybe a body. Human body. Shit.

Moving as silently as he could on the squeaking old floor boards, he neared the backroom door, and he heard mumbling, although it was still too muffled to make out. Only when he stood directly on the other side of the door could he make out words.

"…gon' pay for what you did, you son of a bitch… I'mma fuck you till you don't know your own name no more… you stupid little piece of shit, I waited sixteen years to do this…"

Raylan heard rustling, like someone was trying to take off clothes and struggling with it. He decided he'd heard enough and kicked down the door. What he saw next confused him so much he almost forgot what he was supposed to say.

Boyd was lying on his back, on the floor, a taser discarded next to him, and he was obviously unconscious, judging from the fact that there was a stranger hovering above him, prying open Boyd's pants without Boyd trying to stop him. It could have been Eddie Moran, Raylan wasn't sure; the guy had a freshly shaven face and cut hair, differing from the man on the mugshot Raylan had shown to Boyd.

"US Marshal Service, stop what you're doing and raise your hands where I can see 'em!"

Eddie Moran froze and looked at Raylan over his leather-clad shoulder. "Fuck no. You again! You his shadow or summin'?"

Raylan frowned. "What? I said stop what you're doin' and raise your hands where I can see 'em!"

"You can't do that!" Moran stared at him wildly. "I've been waitin' for this day for sixteen goddamn years, you ain't gon' take this from me!"

"Look" Raylan said slowly, gun steady in his hands. "You are gonna do exactly as I said, and take your damned hands off this man, or I will shoot you, on the full authority of the United States Marshal Service. Do you understand me."

Moran, while slowly, almost painfully, raising his hands in the air, looked like he might start crying from injustice. "You stupid asshole" he muttered. "You can't… sixteen years… I waited sixteen years to do this!"

"Yeah, sixteen years, I heard you the first time. Stand up."

Moran stayed where he was, cowering next to Boyd's unmoving form, hands raised, and didn't move one inch.

"Are you deaf? I said, stand up!"

Moran gave him a petulant stare.

"Mr. Moran, and yes, I know who you are, you're the idiot who tried to shoot Boyd in his house, if you don't stand up now and take five steps away from Boyd I will shoot you in the chest, I swear that on my mother's grave. Do. You. Understand."

Finally Moran began to move. Standing up, he took five steps back, just as Raylan had told him to. Sighing in relief, Raylan took five steps forward and punched the bastard Moran in the face so that he fell flat on his ass. Grabbing his wrist, Raylan dragged him over to the kitchenette that stood in the backroom and cuffed him to the frame.

"Now" Raylan said and crouched down in front of Moran, "you're gonna tell me why you tried to shoot Boyd in his house at night, what the hell you just tried to do, and what happened sixteen years ago that made you so pissed you felt you needed to go and do this stupid shit just half a year after you got your release after a twenty-year-stint in prison. Start where you want, and explain it to me, not necessarily in that order."

Moran pressed his lips together and looked at where Boyd was still lying motionless on the floor. Raylan rolled his eyes. "Mr. Moran, I'll find out everythin' I just asked eventually, so why don't you just go ahead and tell me what I wannna know and save the two of us a hell of a lotta time."

"How'd you know it was me that tried to shoot him?" Moran asked in a small voice.

"Well, since you're an idiot, you didn't wear gloves and left your prints all over the goddamned house. Whatever gave you the idea that you could shoot someone with such a big gun? No" he raised a hand to stop Moran from answering, "don't answer that. I don't even think I wanna know. It was a good thing, too, you know, so when I'm haulin' you in now, I'll only have to do it for attempted murder, breaking and entering, and physical assault, instead of second degree murder. You might even get out before you're old and grey. Your own stupidity saved Boyd's life, and yours, too. Ain't that the way it goes?"

Moran only stared at him blankly, and Raylan decided it was time to take a look at Boyd, who still hadn't moved at all. Kneeling next to him, Raylan felt for a pulse and found one, luckily.

"Boyd? Come on, Boyd, wake up." Raylan shook him by the shoulder, not exactly being gentle with it. "Boyd? Boyd!"

He shot Moran a look. "How much volt did you use on him, for God's sake?"

Getting worried, and impatient, Raylan finally just slapped Boyd across the face, hard. That seemed to do the trick. Boyd's eyelids fluttered, and he groaned silently.

"Yes, that's it, Boyd, come on. Wake up."

Before Boyd fully came around, Raylan had the mind to zip Boyd's pants closed. "Hey" he said to Moran, "hey, asshole. What did you wanna do, huh? Try and rape him in the backroom of his bar before killin' him? You that kinda guy now?"

"He deserves it" Moran said, "he fuckin' had it coming! You son of a bitch!" He yanked on the cuffs, then grunted in pain when the metal dug into his skin.

"Wait, what? What do you mean… he had it comin'?"

"He cut off my left fuckin' nut!"

Raylan stared at him, stared at Boyd, stared at Moran.

"I'm sorry. He did WHAT?"

"You heard me. That son of a bitch had it comin', that stupid piece of shit! I waited sixteen years to fuck him in the ass and give him what he deserves!"

Raylan stared dumbfounded at the semi-conscious Boyd before he shot Moran a look. "Huh. So I guess that actually means I can add attempted rape to the charges. Great. You might be old and grey by the time you get out, after all."

Moran didn't really listen to him, he just continued on with his "he had it coming, I waited sixteen years" tirade. Raylan turned to Boyd again who started blinking slowly, sluggishly, until he was able to open his eyes enough that he could see Raylan's face.

"Raylan…?"

"Yeah, Boyd, it's me. You okay?"

"No, actually I don'… don' think I am… dear Lord…"

Boyd closed his eyes again and groaned. Raylan pulled on his arm to get his attention again. "Come on, Boyd, get up. You can lie down on the couch, come on."

Surprisingly Boyd complied, or tried his best to, at least. Sitting up, he whimpered in pain, but Raylan wanted to get him off the dirty floor and as far away from Moran as possible. "Yeah, I know, Boyd. I been tasered before, I know it sucks. Come on, stand up."

Having Boyd settled on the couch, Raylan went over to Moran again and poked him in the chest. "Hey, asshole. Yeah, I'm talkin' to you. So, you wanna tell me how exactly Boyd cut your nut off, huh?"

* * *

The story of how Eddie Moran met Boyd Crowder and lost his left testicle to him was a short one that happened a long time ago, a long enough time ago that even Boyd himself had nearly forgotten about it. Moran hadn't, for obvious reasons.

Sixteen years ago, a 26-year-old Boyd Crowder was sent to the Huttonsville Correctional Center in Randolph County, West Virginia, for not paying his taxes. It was a fateful encounter for the young Boyd, because Huttonsville CC was the only place in West Virginia that housed a part of the Aryan Brotherhood. When Boyd met them, his life would never be the same again. Before he met them, though, he did something that gained their attention.

It just so happened that Eddie Moran shot his girlfriend through a closed bathroom door and claimed to have thought she was a housebreaker four years prior to Boyd being incarcerated for the first time. The jury still sentenced him to twenty-five to life, and he was sent to Huttonsville to serve his time, and there he shared his cell with a meek little guy named Orlando Stonemason that couldn't defend himself when Moran decided it was time to join in on the prison activity of "thy fuck thy neighbor". A month before Boyd Crowder was sentenced to a year in Huttonsville, Stonemason hanged himself, and a bed was free.

Now, Boyd Crowder was, and always had been, a rather lean man, some would have called him skinny even, although the rest of his family on the male side usually grew tall and broad and tended towards over-weight. That was owed to the fact that after Boyd and Bowman's momma died when Boyd was seven, no one took care that the boys had enough to eat anymore, and in those formative teenage years, Boyd, always having taken more after his mother, drew the short straw on his, though younger, still taller brother and was constantly underfed throughout adulthood. It would leave him the shortest man in the Crowder family, although he still stood tall compared to most other men.

Due to his resulting leanness, when Boyd Crowder entered the cell, looking just a tad bit nervous for being in jail for the very first time, Eddie Moran looked at him and thought he'd just found another victim. He was proven wrong a week later.

Bo Crowder was a very influential man, even in the middle east of West Virginia, so he arranged for his son to be passed a shiv a couple days in. Moran didn't know that. So, a week after Boyd's move-in, Eddie Moran advanced on Boyd Crowder in a not so kind manner with less than pure intentions, and Boyd, being the exact opposite of the victim that Moran thought him to be, had his shiv in hand and, in a scuffle, cut off one of Moran's balls.

The guards heard Moran's yelps and sobs and thought Crowder had tried to kill him, so when they burst into the cell and found Moran kneeling on the floor clutching at his bleeding crotch they didn't exactly expect to find Boyd Crowder lying on the top bunk, scraping off dirt and blood (Moran's blood) from under his fingernails. Moran was a scumbag and everyone had known, or at least suspected, what he'd been doing to the poor Orlando Stonemason, so no one cried a tear for his lost testicle. (Boyd found it that same night, rotting under the bed. He picked it up and flushed it down the toilet.) They just dragged Moran off to the hospital ward and gave Crowder one day of solitary confinement, just because they knew violence against another inmate, as deserved as it might be, could not go completely unpunished.

Moran, after getting treatment, was transferred one-testicled over to Denmar and served the rest of his sentence there, and someone screwed up while filing it so that after sixteen years there was no paper proof in Denmar that Moran had ever been incarcerated in Huttonsville. They all knew he'd served his first years somewhere else in West Virginia, but that didn't necessarily narrow it down and since no one could tell if it had been Huttonsville or Pruntytown or Mount Olive, they decided it didn't matter anymore. Eddie Moran's time in Huttonsville was forgotten by everybody but Moran himself, who kept alive with thoughts of getting revenge on the man that cut off his left nut.

Boyd Crowder, after getting out of his nineteen hours of solitary (it was supposed to be twenty-four hours, but since everybody was keen on patting him on the shoulder for what he'd done to Moran, the guards weren't that thorough), met the AB and shook hands and became what he was going to be, and after sixteen years, he had simply forgotten about Eddie Moran. He'd never taken the time to remember the name of his creepy cell mate, so the name Eddie Moran didn't ring any bells. While Boyd himself did not change much on the outside during those sixteen years except for letting some of his hair, Eddie Moran changed drastically, lost a lot of weight, grew a beard, got his nose broken three times, and was not recognizable to Boyd anymore when Raylan showed him the mugshot. Had Raylan known about Moran's time in Huttonsville and noticed that it overlapped with Boyd's time there, he would have mentioned it to Boyd and Boyd would have remembered; but Raylan didn't know, so Boyd didn't remember.

Had Boyd not still been feeling the after-effects of strong pain medication he would have questioned the request of that someone who introduced himself on the phone as Kris Kristopherson and wanted to ask for work. In the tired state he was in, Boyd just figured the man had just gotten out of prison (which he had) and was afraid to use his real name (which he was) and was just a guy looking to get back into the business (which he most definitely was not), so Boyd didn't suspect any foul play and agreed to meet Kris Kristopherson at the bar.

Had he been more aware, Boyd would have taken a closer look at the mugshot Raylan had shown him not an entire hour before, and he would have taken a closer look at Kris Kristopherson as well and would have understood that this man was in fact Eddie Moran minus his shaggy beard. But Boyd hadn't, so he didn't, and it landed him on the floor with Moran's hand in his pants and Raylan Givens to his rescue.

"And I guess that's also the reason why he tried to shoot me in Ava's house this Monday" Boyd ended his Eddie-Moran's-testicle-story. Art was nodding the whole time while taking notes.

"Yes, that could be it. Taking into account that to every question we asked Moran, he answered that you, and I quote, 'had it coming', I think we can agree on that as his primary motive."

"Cutting a man's balls off just ain't a nice thing to do" Raylan added.

"Ball, Raylan, singular. It was just one, and I think he kinda had it comin', too, to use Mr. Moran's way of expressin' himself" Boyd said and rubbed at his forehead. He had recovered from the taser attack quite quickly and was sitting on the couch in the backroom now, a blanket pooling behind him that he refused to put over his shoulders no matter how much the paramedics insisted that he had to be in shock. Ava sat next to him through the whole story and looked like she herself felt like taking a shot or two at Moran, and Raylan knew that it wasn't Boyd's safety they had to fear for anymore.

"Still, Boyd. Cuttin' his nut off was a bit harsh, don't you think?"

"Tryin' to rape me was a bit harsh, as well."

"Well, would you've put out if he'd asked nicely?"

Boyd and Raylan had to laugh, even Tim, who stood nearby, chuckled a bit at that, and Ava stood up, throwing her hands in the air.

"Do you really think that's funny? That ain't funny! This is serious!"

"Ava, baby…" Boyd tried to take her hand, but she wouldn't let him.

"Don't you 'Ava, baby' me here. You're all idiots, the lot of you!" Ava stomped off, out into the bar room, leaving the men to stand there feeling slightly guilty, for what exactly they didn't even know.

"So" Raylan said after a pause. "I'm guessin' that's her bein' protective again, huh?"

"It is" Boyd confirmed. "I can understand her. The way everythin' played out, it was… rather unfortunate."

"You can say that again, Mr. Crowder." Art closed his notepad and motioned for Raylan and Tim to follow him. "I'm just glad we could find the guy who tried to kill you."

"As am I, Chief, as am I."

Excusing themselves, they left the backroom and watched as Moran was lead outside, shouting his "I waited sixteen years!"-tirade that by now everybody involved knew by heart. He'd added a new element when he complained that Boyd hadn't even remembered his face. Raylan could at least understand that it had to be kinda humiliating if a guy semi-castrated you and afterwards didn't even recognize you when you stood before him and told him bullshit about how you wanted to work for him.

"Moran even told us that he was the one who packed you and Crowder into that closet on Christmas Eve" Tim said. "He said he'd needed a place to lay low for a few weeks until he figured out an appropriate way to off Crowder, when you and him just showed up, and he didn't wanna kill Crowder then because he didn't wanna do it in the presence of a US Marshal."

"And so he knocked us out, deposited us in the closet and hoped we would just rot in there. I get the picture. That explains what he meant when he said 'you again' when he saw me. Damn, that musta been frustratin'." Raylan grinned and shook his head.

"Oh" he continued and looked at Tim. "You were right by the way."

"I always am. About what?"

"About them bein' in Chicago. They went there, on a two-day-road trip."

"That was lucky, too, that you did the questioning of Crowder today, and not yesterday night, as you'd wanted to" Art reckoned. "That way you were able to show Crowder the mugshot as you planned to, saved him from getting raped and caught the guy who caused all of this mayhem. It's like… killing three birds with one stone. Good job, Raylan."

"Uh, yeah. Seems like I'm on a roll." Raylan cleared his throat, and Tim's face was a mask of stone on this topic.

After Art had excused himself to go outside and talk to the Marshals that had let Moran outside, Raylan turned to Tim. "Thanks for, you know. Not tellin' Art I stayed the night and stuff."

Tim shrugged. "As I said, I'm nice. AND it means you owe me one."

Raylan sighed. "Yep. I owe you one."

"It's really nice to hear that. Could you say it again, just one more time?"

"I owe you one. Now get outta here."

"Gotcha. Hey, can I catch a ride? I drove here with Art at the wheel…"

"No big deal. Does that mean my debt is paid?"

"Nice try" Tim grinned and followed after Art, passing Ava who was on her way to the backroom again. She stopped by Raylan.

"Thank you, Raylan" she said, seriously. "You saved Boyd. I'm just… really glad you were here. Really, really glad."

"It's alright, Ava" Raylan said. "Boyd woulda done the same."

She left his side to join Boyd on the couch again, and Raylan followed her, looking at the two of them, huddled on the couch.

"You alright, Boyd?"

"I guess I'll be fine, Raylan" Boyd said and looked at him, inquiring. "Does that mean you were worried about me again? It seems to be a habit of yours as of late."

"Well. I just wanna see you in prison, Boyd, I don't wanna see you dead."

"You already seen me in prison, more times than I care to count, Raylan." Boyd grinned at him, that annoying toothy grin. "I don't think that's enough for you."

"No talk about prison now" Ava interrupted them. "Someone just tried to… do awful things to Boyd, Raylan, just give him some rest."

"You know what that is?" Raylan rubbed his thumb against the side of his finger. "That's the tiniest man in the world playin' 'My heart bleeds for you' on a tiny violin."

"That's an old joke, Raylan" Boyd said, chuckling.

Raylan shrugged. "Dewey Crowe had never heard of it before."

"Raylan, to be fair, there are a lot of things Dewey Crowe ain't never heard of before."

"Point taken."

"Hey." Boyd smiled at him. "What do you get when you play a country song backwards?"

"I don't know. What?"

"You get your wife back, your job back, your dog back."

Raylan laughed a little. "Heh. That's funny. Where'd you get that?"

"Some TV show. I think it played in Baltimore…"

"They obviously don't know what they're talkin' about."

Boyd nodded, conceding the point. "Thanks for comin' by, Raylan. Always a pleasure."

"Mh."

"I'll see you, Raylan."

"Boyd." Raylan tipped his hat. "Bye, Ava."

* * *

"Baby, for real now" Ava said, as soon as Raylan was out of ear shot. "Are you okay?"

"I think I'm gon' be okay, Ava, thank you" Boyd said and smiled at her. He really did love that woman and her fiercely protective side when it came to himself. No one he'd ever known had fought that hard on his behalf, and he really was eternally grateful.

He considered telling her that, but instead he settled on taking her face into his hands and kissing her, long and sweet. They were interrupted by his cell phone.

"Baby, you got a text."

"I know." Boyd took his cell phone in hand and opened the message.

"It's Devil. He wants to come home."

* * *

Dun dun dun!

So. Yes, the act that landed Moran in prison was a hint at Oscar Pistorius. (And yes, I think he belongs in jail for it, but that's really not why I wrote it. I just needed a reason to sentence Moran to 20 years in prison.)

Now, the Prison Problem. When I had the idea for this story (and that was quite a few months ago) I started my research with the prisons that Boyd sat in to find out where I could put him in a cell with someone who'd later want revenge on him for doing something when they shared a cell. In Justifed it was said several times that Boyd sat in a prison called "Alderson". The thing is, there's only one prison in the USA that I know of that has the name Alderson in its title, and that is the Federal Prison Camp, Alderson, in West Virginia, and it's only for FEMALE inmates. I think we can all agree on the fact that Boyd ain't female. So that left me with the question of where to put Boyd, because I didn't wanna put him in a female prison, and I wanted to put him somewhere where he would meet the people that drew him into the white supremacy bullshit. (Tell me I'm overthinking it, but I just couldn't let that lie.)

So, I did what I always do when I have a Justified-related question, I asked freshouttaideas, who asked Red Molly, who gave me the answer I needed: That I should put Boyd in Huttonsville CC, which is also in West Virginia and, as it already said in the story, houses the only acknowledged presence of the Aryan Brotherhood in the state. To keep to canon freshouttaideas had the idea to make it into a joke to say Alderson instead of Huttonsville because of Martha Stewart, and I found that funny enough that I just went with it. So there you go.

Lastly, the joke Boyd told about country songs obviously was from the show "Homicide" and taken out of the mouth of the one and only John Munch, the only fictional character in the history of TV to have appeared on ten different TV shows. Wikipedia even told me that he was on Arrested Development!

Now you're probably wondering about the last line. That's the hint I was talking bout. To know what that is all about, I'm afraid you'll have to wait for my next story. It'll be coming soon!


End file.
